Final Hour
by Flamewing80
Summary: Greed festers in the hearts of the evanuris. Where once friendship and blood bound the nine, now only lust and greed devour them. One refuses power. Another travels a road unseen by all the rest. Alone, without the aid of the others, they must find a way to save the Elvhen from the first of the People. The dawn of the end falls. Redo of the original Final Hour
1. Chapter 1: Deep Places

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age is owned by Bioware and EA games.

 **Warning:** There are **spoilers from** _ **Dragon Age: Inquisition: Trespasser**_ in this book, some pretty big ones. **If you don't want to see them, then don't read this book**.

 **Note to readers:** After the release of Trespasser I realized some of my ideas which went into _Final Hour_ were right and some were completely wrong (such as the veil, my theory behind that was proven true. Err, that a certain character we all know was behind it and its creation…). This story takes place around the same time as the original did, but with a slightly different plot so it fits more with what was revealed in the DLC.

Also, no, there will not be a prologue.

Oh, and a character I adored writing from a story with HerenyaHope does appear in this book despite the original idea of how he would be in the old _Final Hour_ being scrapped. I couldn't bring myself to scrap him outright and there is still proof the dwarves were around during the height of Elvhenan as it is.

I hope you enjoy this story.

Thank you,  
Flame

* * *

Water dripped down stone. The sound echoed up through the darkness broken only by a soft, blue glow. Lyrium, untouched, twisted as the branches and roots of forgotten trees. Water dripped from the stone to the ground. None of it seemed able to touch the beautiful lyrium veins.

Solas edged forward. He leaned over a great chasm. The lyrium allowed him to see far below. The veins stretched on for miles, untouched by any elven. He took a deep breath of damp, musty air which clung to the dark places of Elvhenan. A shiver raced through him. His skin crawled. He was far from alone here.

The ground shook. Solas staggered. He pitched forward. His hand clawed at the air a moment before he managed to catch a wall. Every beat of his heart pulsed in his ears. His eyes wide as he stared at the chasm. That had been far too close for comfort.

"The Stone not be liking us here, I be thinking," a gruff sounded behind Solas. "It not be wise to disturb this places."

Solas backed away from the edge of the chasm to the relative safety of where his dwarf companion stood. He was careful not to touch any of the lyrium as he came. "Noted." Solas agreed it wasn't a place he wanted to be. It was, however, one of the few places beyond Elgar'nan's grasping, greedy fingers right now. And the few Mythal hadn't set up.

The heart of this place pulsed with magic. Another shiver crawled through Solas. His heartrate picked up a notch as fear pulsed through him. One didn't just waltz into a place like this, not without realizing it could very well mean death even for an immortal elvhen.

Solas took a deep breath. These thoughts were far from why he was here. It was only a threat he needed to keep at the forefront of his mind.

"My thanks for showing me this place, Hallmar." Solas knew his voice sounded less than confident right then.

"You be crazier than normal, Solas." Hallmar glared at Solas from under his leather helm. His thick brow furled in discontent. "It not being wise to disturb these places even for the veins. Ya people be finding this out from their own greedy digging."

Solas bowed his head. Ice spread through Solas's veins at the mention of the mines the elvhen had dug through for the _Evanuris_. He shivered despite himself. Solas turned back to the lyrium veins and the soft glow of the tree like material.

Hallmar grunted as he hefted his pack on his shoulder. "Ya be insane if you be thinking you can be stopping them reaching this place."

"I am aiming to seal my people off from this one," Solas stated. He picked up his own pack from where he had dropped it. "Let's head back up. I can seal the passage without disturbing anything." Or so he hoped. There were several cities above them on the surface. Each one at risk if there really was a Pillar of Earth resting deep below them.

The truth of the matter was, those cities would be destroyed if the _evanuris_ had claimed this place and there was a Pillar of Earth here. That was, if Solas hadn't arrived first. It troubled him to think just how greedy and power hungry they'd grown as the centuries had progressed. There was no disputing the power each wielded and no winning against one of them.

Solas let out a low breath. Right now the _evanuris_ weren't his priority and such thoughts were dangerous enough without thinking on enacting on them.

Darkness swallowed Solas and Hallmar as they left the lyrium veins behind. Solas turned. He wove magic into the stone. The stone moved as the ground shook from it. Soon the passage appeared to be just another dead end.

"How many more entrances into the lyrium deposited?" Solas asked. His gaze was locked on the seal he'd just made. It was his hope the others would be unable to break through this.

"There being a few deeper down," the dwarf reply his tone gruff. "It not be the best of treks to be getting down there though, I be thinking your people be not taking those routes."

"I won't put anything passed their greed." Solas pulled out his staff. A soft light glistened off the wet stone.

Hallmar hissed. "You be needing a warning for that." His thick arm blocked the light of Solas's staff.

"I suppose we could stumble around blind for a bit," Solas teased. The light went out.

Hallmar made a noise deep in his throat. "You be bringing the light back. I not be running around blind and you be not having any stone sense. You be hitting walls in the second."

The words left a sting of embracement burning Solas's ears. The light returned, slower this time as it spread out over the wet stone. "Wouldn't the lower levels be flooded?" Solas asked as he eyed the water.

"Might be. I've not been here since I be stumbling on it a few years ago." Hallmar started off.

Hallmar's boots echoed with each heavy step he took. His boots almost clanged against the stone, beating as a load as a drum beat through the silence of night. The sound was enough to think the entire population of spiders would descend upon them at any moment.

Solas eyed the ceiling, half expecting to see one of the great spiders uncurl from its web. Nothing moved.

In contrast to Hallmar's loud steps, Solas could barely hear his own soft footsteps over the stone. His were nearly bare like so many of his people. This would allow him to go unnoticed in any place in Elvhenan and below it.

Hallmar held up his hand. "There's movement ahead," the dwarf whispered. "It be wise to be snuffing that light of yours, Solas."

Solas paused and strained to hear anything. He could only hear the soft tapping of water against the stone. Darkness cascaded around the two of them. In the deep places of the earth it was wise to trust a dwarf over his own, muddled senses.

Silence, broken only by the soft tapping of water, pressed down on Solas. The feeling was foreign to him. Even in the halls of Elvhenan he had never felt this cut off from anything. Blind and deaf, all he could do was wait on Hallmar.

Then, the first sounds of movement came to Solas. Heavy footsteps, not unlike Hallmar's, rang through the passage. The sound of metal against stone clanked and echoed.

"Hmm, odd," the voice was deep, that of a dwarf, covered in a thick ascent as he spoke elvhen. "The air flow has changed. The passage should open ahead, rather it now feels closed."

A soft light could now be seen just down the passage from where Solas and Hallmar now crouched. The harsher torch light allowed shapes to appear in the form of shadows dancing against stone. Several thick, stocky shapes were the most permeate of the shadows, but there were others intermixed with them. Lithe, tall, the silhouettes of elves.

"Friends of yours?" Hallmar whispered.

"Friends of yours?" Solas retorted.

Solas could just picture the dwarf's scowl at Solas's retort. It was too dark to make out more than the rough outline of his oldest, dwarf friend.

"There be a lot of them," Hallmar muttered.

They were outnumbered. Shadows were a poor way to judge just how many were there. Though, if Solas knew anything about the so called "gods," their initial mining groups were only just large enough to find and secure the passage leading to where the lyrium dwelled. It was too deep down for the group to go it alone. Besides, they would never risk an attempt to take on a Pillar of Earth. If one was in the area, then it was more likely they would wait for which ever "god" they served to come down and deal with the Pillar in person or the order that it was safe to dig. Despite the fact mining where a Pillar slept was exceedingly dangerous.

"Most likely five elvhen," Solas whispered back. "And at least three children of the stone."

"So we be outnumber eight to two."

"At least," Solas replied.

"Aye, at least. We be dead if they not be liking you."

"Doubtful they'll be friendly."

Though, if they were Mythal's followers… but, no, she would never place a city at risk just for more lyrium. She sought to protect the People, never harm them for her own political gain.

"You still not being the most popular among your leaders." Hallmar shifted. His silhouette now held his crossbow. "Well, I be only giving you a protest of this being where I die. I not be thinking this would be where I would return to the Stone."

A small smile curled Solas's lips. Solas turned his gaze from Hallmar to the passage. The group was moving once more.

"We'll have a look," a dwarf informed the elvhen in the group.

Solas placed his hand on Hallmar's shoulder. The dwarf moved a little back so he was just as hidden behind the stone. The dwarves hired by this group of elvhen were well armored and well equipped. The elvhen were at least sensitive to magic and could counter some of Solas's. One had to be a full mage.

Solas squeezed Hallmar's shoulder and saw the dwarf lower his crossbow. His head bowed in the slightest of nods. The two of them moved further back into the shadows. Solas didn't dare draw breath as the group passed them. Their armor clanking. There were well over five dwarves and at least ten elvhen.

"We confirmed the site _weeks_ ago," grumbled one of the elvhen. "If we return without news for June…" he trailed off.

June? What was June doing establishing a mine here of all places? Solas shuddered to think what the craftsman was after. Perhaps June was just being as greedy as the rest. Either way, the more mining which happened, the more likely it was for the world to crumble from it.

"We need a good lyrium deposit and this was the richest one yet," another said. "We're not going back without results."

Solas scanned the elves as they passed him and Hallmar. There were only three in the group who were free elvhen. The rest bore the _vallaslin_ of June. Solas's grip tightened on his staff. His entire body tense. It took a great deal of effort not to leap out and start a fight.

"Stay here," Solas whispered to Hallmar when the group was out of earshot. Solas slipped from the cover and moved down the passage after the group. He kept to shadows as he neared them on silent feet.

"This wasn't here before!" one of the dwarven guides growled.

The mage in the group stepped forward and lifted her hand. "There are powerful spells which moved the stone. This was done recently. And only one of the creators is capable of such magic."

"Which would move against June now? Falon'Din? Elgar'nan?" asked another.

"Fen'Harel?" the third member of the elvhen chimed in.

The second snorted. "What does the Dread Wolf gain by sealing off a lyrium deposit? It doesn't free any slaves."

"R-right," the third stuttered a little. "But what if _he_ is here?"

"You'd better hope _he_ isn't." There was a harsh tone to the voice now, an edge of fear.

The "god" nonsense again. Solas scowled. He had been trying to prove those rumors wrong for countless years now. Yet, the People still seemed to think of him along the same lines as the _evanuris_. It was ridicules considering how hard Solas worked to show he was just a normal, really old elvhen.

The slaves shifted, most of their expressions guarded. In some, Solas could see a hint of hope. These slaves needed to be freed.

Solas shifted as he lifted his staff. Then he stopped. He couldn't take on this many and hope the slaves would fight alongside him, let alone recognize him as Fen'Harel. Most of the People depicted him as being a wolf after all.

Okay, so he could take on this many but he would end up killing all of them. Solas had no desire to kill any of them.

"Did you hear that?" the third member shifted, drawing his bow. Sharp eyes locked on the shadows around Solas.

Solas cursed. The hiss of an arrow thrummed in his ear. A sharp pain told him it had grazed his ear. Solas leapt to his feet and bolted down the passage. Another arrow thrummed passed him.

"After him!" shouted the mage.

"Damn it!" Hallmar leapt for his cover and fired a few shots towards the oncoming elves and dwarves.

"Run!" Solas paused only long enough to take hold of Hallmar's arm. The two of them tore down the passage.

There was no outrunning them in the tunnels. Solas glanced around. There was an opening not far ahead of them.

Solas stopped and looked back. His sharp eyes could just make out the torches bobbing in presuit. He could hear the shouts and thudding of dwarven feet.

"Go," Solas urged Hallmar.

"After you."

Solas scowled, but didn't argue. He leapt into the tunnel. The next moment Solas was on his back, sliding down a steep incline. He held his staff to his chest. Cold air rushed around him as the walls sped by. The ground smoothed by water racing alongside him.

The ground vanished as Solas was thrown out into a vast cavern. Water rushed up around him in the next instance. It burned his nose and mouth as he caught a lung full of it. The water broke as Solas managed to get to surface. Waves crashed into him from an undercurrent.

A dark shape struck the water feet away. Solas took a deep breath and dove under. Hallmar was visible as a sinking shape through the dark water. Solas pulled himself through the water, dragged down by the heavy furs on his shoulder. His long fingers hooked the thick leather of Hallmar's coat.

Lungs burned as Solas turned towards the surface. With one hand he clawed at the water and kicked hard. Each moment under left him more light headed than last. The weight of wet fur and the dead weight of dwarf need little to aid in the battle against the deep water.

Fingers broke the surface as a blade would flesh. Solas slammed his hand down. The impact periled him up. His head broke the surface sending blue tented droplets scattering across the lake's surface. He gasped. Cold air slammed into his lungs. His head spun with the sudden filling of oxygen rushing through his body.

Hallmar struggled beside Solas. Water exploded up around Solas. It stung his eyes and nostrils as the two of them were set down. Hallmar trashed in the water as a fish would on land.

Solas stretched out his fingers. The water just over them froze over. He pulled Hallmer up. Each kick a struggle once more. The surface broke. Solas heaved Hallmar up onto the thick ice sheet. Solas placed his arms on the sheet to stay afloat. Each breath was pained. His lungs and body feeling the drain from the struggle.

The dwarf slipped over the ice for a few before he collapsed, coughing up the water he'd breathed in. His face pale even in the dim light of the space. His thick chest rose and fell in time to his deep, labored breaths.

Solas felt his breathing ease as time passed. It took him a long moment to take look up from the ice sheet. When he did, he felt the air flee his lungs. The area spun with his shock. Soft light filtered down from every angle from the twisted, root like veins of lyrium. It was far more than Solas had seen in the cavern before this. The blue veins twisted up the walls and covered the floor of the not so distant stone cavern.

"That be," Hallmar started between deep, gasping breaths, "the last I be letting you lead."

A sharp, breathless laugh escaped Solas. The comment felt so out of place for where they'd ended up he couldn't help it. "Perhaps, it is wise for you to be leader for here on out, my friend." The words were soft.

"Aye." Hallmar sat up. The ice sheet shifted as the dwarf did. "Can you get us across to stone?" Hallmar was staring at the stone floor.

"I can."


	2. Chapter 2: Secret Mistake

**Please read before the chapter:** There is a new pov character in this chapter. Unlike with the original write of this story Felassan isn't the secondary pov character. It's a character I sort of made OCish: Dirthamen. I am keeping the personality I have for him from other stories I have been working on before the release of _Trespasser_. I figured it was unlikely we would ever actually meet Dirthamen in game or in the novels and it's also because I just adore the way he has been developed over the past few months or so. You will see what I am doing as the story progresses that will tie all of this back into the canon story. Some of it is hinted at already in chapter.

* * *

Warm blood dripped to the sand colored stone. The stone wall pressed against Dirthamen's back, his hand clutching his bleeding side as he stared at the figure before him. His eyes burned with unshed tears. His heart screamed with the pain echoing of the betrayal now dealt. He shouldn't have felt this way. He should have known not to ignore the images of what was to come. But he couldn't have believed them. He hadn't wanted to believe them.

"Falon'Din," the name caught in Dirthamen's throat. "Why?"

Blood tapped against the stone from a dagger gripped in another's hand. "It's nothing personal, _brother_ ," the elf spat the relation as if it were something foul on the tip of his tongue. "It's high time I ruled alone." Falon'Din lifted the dagger and pointed it at Dirthamen. "You've always taken half of _everything_ since the day we were born! I am sick of it. Sick of knowing that you, _you_ were never even my full blooded twin!" His yellow-gold eyes, so like their mother's, flashed with rage.

Dirthamen pushed himself back against the wall, staring at his brother. "We've always been together," he choked. There were invisible talons wrapping around his lungs. It was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. "What does it matter if we don't share the same father?"

"Of course, you knew." Falon'Din turned his back on Dirthamen. "You knew and never told me."

"I am still your brother!" Dirthamen shouted. He shuddered as pain raced through his body from where Falon'Din had stabbed him. "We've always been together. Even when you left, I found a way to your side again. We're brothers, _twins_."

"Shut up!"

Fire raced through Dirthamen's shoulder. He gasped, struggling for both breath and against the pain. His vision cleared. Falon'Din was inches from him, his gaze no longer holding love or a playfulness to them, but were cold. As cold as when he looked down on the People as of late. He looked at Dirthamen as if Dirthamen were no better than an insect ready to be squashed underfoot.

"Brother," Dirthamen gasped through pain and locked airways.

Falon'Din moved his hand. He pressed it against Dirthamen's jaw. "I can have all of it." He moved his hand. The tip of his finger painted Dirthamen's blood over Dirthamen's face. A smile curled Falon'Din's lips. "Without you, all that was ours is _mine_. All the territory you held, the slaves; the magical knowledge, _mine_."

Something warm slipped from Dirthamen's eye and trickled down his face. He couldn't look away from his brother. The expression, the lust and greed now dominating his brother's face, was horrifying.

The finger continued to paint the blood over Dirthamen's face. "Or instead of killing you, I could make you _serve_ me." His voice softened, laced in lust for power these thoughts twisted in Falon'Din's mind.

Dirthamen couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

"No one would question your fall from power, not if you signed your life to me. How about it? Become nameless, be the insect you really are."

Dirthamen's blood turned to ice. He knew what it was Falon'Din was painting on his face with Dirthamen's own blood. The world rang in Dirthamen's ears. He lifted his free hand and took hold of Falon'Din's wrist.

"You are my brother," the words were weak, shaking with pain and breathlessness. "I won't serve you." Another tear slid down Dirthamen's face. He didn't have his brother's physical strength. He never had it. It was why he had needed the ravens to carry him at one point. "I stayed by you because you were my brother." Another tear slid down his face. "Because I loved you more than anything in this world."

Falon'Din blinked. His smile faltered. "You were never my brother. You're existence is a mistake."

The words sliced through Dirtahmen harsher than his brother's dagger had. "Take it," the words slipped from him, numb; broken just as his heart. "Take all of it!" he screamed. "If all you want is power. If all you _care_ about is territory and your own image. Then take it! If my being there through your worst nightmares, my standing by you while you wept, laughed; raged. If none of that meant anything to you, then do it. Kill me!"

Dirthamen saw his brother lift the dagger. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to hit his throat.

A shriek sounded.

Dirthamen's eyes snapped open. Two ravens had dived at his brother their talons slashed through the barrier Falon'Din had around him and rent flesh.

Falon'Din screamed.

Dirthamen staggered to his feet. "Falon'Din," he whispered as he watched Fear and Deceit attack his brother.

The larger of the two birds continued in attack. The smaller broke off. "Run!" she shrieked at Dirthamen. "We are bound to you. You die, we die. Run you fool!"

"He fears not your death, only the one with fire. Run, Dirthamen!" Fear called after Deceit's words.

Dirthamen stared at the birds for a heartbeat. Then he moved, his feet carried him towards a distant eluvian. He staggered before he broke in a slow run. His breathing was uneven. He was running, faster and faster. He came at the eluvian at the fastest speed his frail form could manage. He burst through the mirror and raced through the crossroads, blind to all but the pain and the horror.

He stopped. "Mother." His feet changed direction and he was running once more. His feet carried him to where Mythal would be. Where he had known he would one day be.

Blood dripped down his side. Dirthamen slowed and clutched his side and a tree. The crossroads had speed his journey, aiding him in his desperation. Long strands of his dark, black hair fell around his face. The blood Falon'Din had painted on his face cracked with each struggled breath Dirthamen took.

"Dirthamen?" a soft voice asked. A warm hand touched his face. "What happened?" He was forced to look into two intense, yellow-gold eyes. "Is that—?" A long finger touched the blood covering his face. "What happened?" her voice was stern.

"Mother, I need the truth. Who was he? The man you went to that night. Who is my father?! Why am not Falon'Din's full brother? His twin. Why did you never tell us?!"

Mythal started to speak, "Dirth—"

The moment she spoke his original name, images exploded into his mind. Visions of the past, of _his_ past:

His mother held him as a baby, alone in the dark night. "His name is Dirth, may none know my secret, _his_ secret, not even his father."

Dirthamen snapped back to the present. He backed away from Mythal, staring at her as tears slid down his face. "He doesn't even know," he whispered.

"Dirthamen, calm down. You're not thinking." Mythal reached for him.

The magic was weaving around him as she tried lull calm as she had when Dirthamen and Falon'Din had been children. It was softer than then, not as strong as she tried to use it to calm instead of make his sleep.

More images flashed before his eyes. Elgar'nan glared down at Dirthamen and Falon'Din when they had been five. Elgar'nan nodded to Falon'Din as he ran faster and faster.

"Wait, Falon!" the little Dirth called after his brother. "I can't run fast."

Falon, as Falon'Din had been named before the People added to his name, stopped and ran back. "Come on, Dirth. You can keep up with me. We're meant to be together. We're twins!" Falon took his hand and pulled him after.

Dirth slowed his brother.

Elgar'nan moved before them and broke their hands apart. "Leave him, Falon. You're strong and will make it in this world. He's a mistake who will never last in this world. In our war."

Falon buff out his chest. "He's not." The words were faded as Dirthamen was snapped back to present.

"Elgar'nan suspected I wasn't his," he whispered.

"Never." Mythal wrapped her hand around his. "Dirthamen, he never knew. Neither of them knew. I was upset that night. Elgar'nan was enraged I was expecting a child. I sought comfort with my closest friend. It was a mistake."

Dirthamen backed away from her. The words rang in his ears. "Your closest…" he whispered. "You slept with his _brother_! With the wolf." Dirthamen felt sick. The ground shook as the realization washed over him. That was why he and Falon'Din had still looked like pure brothers. Why Elgar'nan had never suspected. Why Dirthamen had been born so weak and frail.

"It was a mistake. They can never know."

Dirthamen looked at Mythal. His eyes locked onto hers. Black strands of her fell from the horn-like style she preferred. The thinness of eyebrows, the same as theirs. They had looked like their mother. It had helped in keeping her secret, her _mistake_ hidden from Elgar'nan and _his_ brother.

"What if I had been born with pale eyes? Anything of Uncle's that Elgar'nan didn't share?" he demanded. No sooner then he asked it, he knew. Dirthamen felt his blood grow colder. He backed away from Mythal. "You're no mother," he whispered.

"Dirthamen." She reached for him again. "I was young. I didn't know what to do."

"Tell the truth," Dirthamen told her. "No matter how hard it was. You could have told all four of us the truth."

"It would have destroyed them." Mythal touched his arm. "Your blood father can never know he has a child. Elgar'nan can never know I betrayed him back then, because I couldn't take his rage. It was a _mistake_."

"Uncle would have loved you," Dirthamen told her. The words came from the reality he could see where she had told truth. "He would have raised Falon as his own even as Elgar'nan threatened Uncle. He would have _loved_ all of us." Dirthamen backed away from her again. He shook his head. "I was expendable from the start. The _secret_ you never wanted anyone to know of. That's why you named me Dirth. You would have killed me if I had his eyes instead of yours. If any part of me looked like _him_! Like my father. A part of him which wasn't shared in his older brother!" He kept backing away from Mythal. Silent tears slid down his face. "I am a mistake."

"Dirthamen." Mythal moved towards him.

"They need to know," Dirthamen started. "Both of them."

"What will that do? It will cause you more pain than you're already in." Her clawed glove touched his arm. "He can never accept you as his son now, Dirthamen. You sided with us. You sided with your brother's stance because you couldn't stand the thought of betraying him. Your blood father will never accept you."

Dirthamen closed his eyes. She spoke the truth. He could see the future he went to his father. There was nothing but more pain down that road. More pain for his father as well. If his father ever learned the truth, there was nothing but pain for him. For the both of them.

Instead of replying, Dirthamen turned away from Mythal and started forward.

"They can't know!"

Dirthamen stopped walking. "Your secret will never find its way to either of them," he told her, his voice hallow even to his own ears.

"What will you do?" Mythal asked. "Attack Falon'Din?"

Dirthamen felt bitterness on his lips. "Walk and never look back. I won't stop what's to come. I'll be dead to the world. If I must be painted as a villain in my father's eyes, then he will always see me standing with the others."

"Dirthamen."

"You deserve the fate that awaits you, Mythal. Hate me if you will. Wish I had never come to be. Think what will of me. I will never see you again as you are now. Nor will see Dirthamen again." He started walking once more.

"Dirthamen!"

With each step he took, he stripped a layer of the finery until only the plain cloths he'd worn under it all remained. He left the crossroads, not caring where the eluvian he walked through took him. He stopped walking, finding himself for the first time in his life, completely alone.

A soft breeze pulled at Dirthamen. His eyes locked onto the distant lake. He was close to where _he_ lived. There was no point in heading there. He was currently in the dark places of the earth. In a dark place where he would remain ignorant of what Mythal had kept from the both of them.

Dirthamen pulled out his dagger. He gathered his long hair and twisted it at the nape of his neck. "Dirthamen is dead," he whispered.

The sharp blade sliced through his hair. He lowered his hands. The dagger slid from his hand. The last piece of finery clattered down stone to vanish into the valley. His other hand grasps over a foot of black hair. He felt bare, weightless without the mass of his hair. He lifted his hand and turned towards the sanctuary.

"I'm sorry, I should've spoken out," he whispered. "I feared Falon'Din leaving me behind more than anything else in the world." More tears slid down his bloody face. "I feared a future I knew would come no matter how hard I tried to outwit it. I was a fool."

He opened his hand and watched as the wind pulled the stands of hair through the air.

"Forgive me, Solas, I won't save her. I won't stop what's to come. For Dirthamen is no more."

The last strand left his fingers. He turned away from the sanctuary, for the eluvian.

"For I am dead."

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** And thus the reason this is angst.

Falon'Din and Dirthamen are described in the lore around them as always being together. I feel as if they had vowed to be together no matter what. But what if it came out they didn't have the same father? To Dirthamen, it doesn't matter, they're still brothers. For Falon'Din, it matters more than anything else, they're not brothers. **)**


	3. Chapter 3: Trickster in the Dark

**I don't normally do shout outs but here are two that need to be done:**

 **A special thanks to HerenyaHope. Without her a lot the ideas going into this story wouldn't have entered at all. Chapter 2 came about because of something she and I were writing together and a lot more has been influenced by her advice and help. Thank you.**

 **And thanks to Starryskydragon'sback for reviewing.**

* * *

Solas pulled himself up. Water gushed out over the slick stone. He collapsed beside Hallmar, breathing hard. It hadn't been easy pushing a block of ice carrying a dwarf through tossing water.

"Aye, this is really the last time I be following your lead down here. You be leading above ground only." Hallmar sat up beside Solas.

A chuckle escaped Solas. The movement was painful from his exhaustion. "Perhaps you're correct. Tunnels aren't my strong point."

"Perhaps?" Hallmar snorted. "I know I'm correct. You not be having any Stone sense." Hallmar pulled himself to his feet. "Now, you want to be laying there all day or finish up what we came all this way for?"

Solas sighed and pulled himself into a sitting position. He rung out the heavy, waterlogged fur around his right shoulder and arm. It did little. If anything it just made more water run under his armor.

Solas grumbled and used his staff to pull him to his feet. "Let's find that entrance, seal, and get out of here." To at a least get dry.

"Alright, at least we be agreeing on something." Hallmar grinned. Water dripped from his the braided ends of his gray sprinkled, auburn beard. His dark eyes shown in the soft light of the lyrium.

Solas cocked an eyebrow. He was certain he hadn't disagreed with the dwarf once since falling down here. He decided it was best not to point this out and instead bowed to Hallmar. "Lead the way, Child of the Stone." He gestured for Hallmar to take the lead.

"Gladly, elf." The dwarf started off and Solas fell in behind him.

The sound of boots against stone was echoed by the softer taps of Solas's staff. The lyrium shown as the only light. The twisting veins covered the floor appearing almost akin to frozen miniature rivers. Rivers which could poison him if he dared touch the veins with his bare skin. Thus, Solas focused on each step.

Hallmar led Solas through several passages. Most sloped upward but there were a few times when the two of them slid down a few feet before having to climb up the other side.

As the two of them had traveled the amount of lyrium lessened until on a few thin veins were left to provide light.

"Now, this be looking a lot better." Hallmar stopped both fists planted on his hips.

Solas stopped beside him and looked around. They had traveled several miles through the tunnels to reach this point. None of it looked familiar to him. Though, this wasn't shocking. For one, it was his first time in this particular area and, for another, he's sense of direction was flipped down here. It was no secret the thick stone and layers of earth had blocked the Fade. Thus, dwarves didn't dream. It was a matter which both unnerved and fascinated Solas. To live in a world where the Fade wasn't part of everyday life – Solas shuddered at the thought. Yet, he got a taste of it every time he entered the Deep Roads.

"This way to the entrance I be telling you about earlier." Hallmar started off once more.

After a moment, Solas followed after him. "How close?" he asked. The amount lyrium was growing smaller and smaller. It was starting to get hard to see where he was placing his feet. A soft light started to grow at the tip of Solas's staff.

"I be thinking we're almost out. With there being lyrium less now and all." Hallmar nodded and rubbed his head under his helm. "Aye, this is it." He stopped.

Water flowed on side of the passage, leading down towards the pool the two of them had fallen into. The closest lyrium was well over ten feet away. Solas turned and looked back the way they'd come. If this tunnel was closed completely it would cause a flood in the upper levels. He would have to seal the passage with enough room for the water to still run which ran the risk of the _evanuris_ still being able to get to this lyrium.

Solas rubbed his eyes. Typical, another contingency. Well, it was better than flooding tunnels and turning dwarves against him as well as the _evanuris_. "I need to see if this were the lyrium ends," he stated as he turned to Hallmar.

"Aye, I not be wanting to have nearly drown for nothing."

The two of them continued up the path a ways until Solas was certain they had passed the last of the lyrium. He turned and spread out his hand. Stone ground against stone as he wove magic through it. He was careful to leave just enough space for the small stream to continue unhampered before sealing the passage.

"That should hold."

"Better be more than should, Solas," Hallmar grunted from where he had been watching. "I not be wanting to have to come back here to shoot elves for mining this place. It's not a good idea. Both shooting elves and mining this place."

"It _will_ hold," Solas assured. "Now, shall we depart? I believe I've had quite enough of dank passages."

Hallmar chuckled. "You be just wanting to get dry."

Solas didn't bother with a retort. He just gave his friend an even look.

"Alright, I be agreeing. Let's head back to Orzammer. There are a pair of tankards with our names waiting for us there." He rubbed his hands together, licking his lips as if he could already taste the dwarven ale. "And bunch o' idiot ripe for the picking when we be showing them your gambling skills."

"Fine, fine, let's just get moving."

"Bit impatient for one of them oldest elves, aren't you, Solas?" Hallmar teased as he started off down the passage.

Solas scowled but didn't otherwise retort to this. Hallmar was trying to get under his skin and it gulled him all the more the dwarf was seceding. He would never admit it was working to the dwarf and thus, Solas refused to show anymore annoyance than a scowl.

Over a day passed before the two of them managed to make it back to the Deep Roads proper. The passage was smooth and built up until the structure vanished into the high caverns. The likes of these passages were truly a marvel to behold.

"It be good being back on even roads." Hallmar stretched as they walked down the well light road.

Solas bowed his head in silent agreement. The soft sound of his staff echoed the sound of Hallmar's boots. A few of the travelers on the road paused and stared at Solas. Their eyes brimmed with curiosity. While elves weren't uncommon in the dwarven cities, it was rare for one to travel with only one dwarf guide. Most of the elvhen came in packs with gold to buy their way to the best lyrium deposits in all of the dwarven kingdom.

"What's this? A loner with only one dwarf for company. You exploring, friend?"

Solas stopped as a group spread out before him and Hallmar. It was another band of elvhen with their dwarven guides. By the looks of the slaves in the group, they were followers of Solas's nephews: Falon'Din and Dirthamen. Given the fact the twins shared everything, it wasn't surprising their followers moved together.

Solas didn't make a move to continue forward.

The leader of the group stepped up. "Who do show allegiance to?"

Solas scowled. "None of the _evanuris_ ," he stated in even tones. "Move aside," he kept his voice polite despite the fact his eyes were narrowed at the man before him. This wasn't a good situation to be in.

A flicker of doubt passed over the man's face. His gaze locked onto Solas's pale eyes. Even a fool knew an elder from a common elf. But fools tended to make mistakes and this one was no exception to that.

"You say you're an outcast?" the man moved a little closer to Solas. "Perhaps, I could buy information from you then. You seem to have traveled from the direction my group is heading. Pray tell, did you find anything of interest down those passages?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Solas retorted. "If you would excuse us, we have somewhere else to be." He started around the man.

"Hold it." The man clapped his hand on Solas's shoulder.

Solas turned his head so his eyes locked onto the man's. His grip tightened on his staff. Annoyance claw at his inside. It begged to be released in a sharp words. Solas forced himself to keep his expression even.

"You wouldn't have happened to see any followers of June while coming this way?" the man asked. His voice pleasant. A false smile was spread across his face.

The end of Solas's staff ground against stone. The pressure on the staff was all which was allowing Solas to keep his tongue.

"You lot!" The sound of angry bare feet came over the clamor of the dwarves trying to get through the block Falon'Din's and Dirthamen's followers had made. "You dare do such a thing as seal our master's new mine!"

Solas didn't need to turn to know it was June's group back from trying to find a new entrance into the lyrium deposit.

"So you lot were trying to steal our masters' mine." The follower of the twins shoved Solas back so he and Hallmar stood between the two groups.

"I ain't be liking this one bit," Hallmar whispered.

Solas glanced at Hallmar but didn't otherwise reply.

The mage stepped forward from June's group. "We stole nothing from your masters'," she spat. "It must be some trick of Dirthamen's that made it look like there was passage to the lyrium that way. Where is it really?"

"My Gods would never sink so low as to trick another," the follower of Dirthamen and Falon'Din stated. "You seem to have them confused with the Dread Wolf himself."

Solas knew how to get himself and Hallmar out of this in one piece. "Perhaps it is a matter of which group is more deserving," he stated. "The twins do have the advantage in numbers."

The followers of the twins smirked as if only just realizing they outnumbered the followers of June two to one.

"However, in a fight over this new mine, June's followers do have the advantage of better crafted weapons and armor." Solas tilted his head in the direct of June's followers. "It would be quite something to see which of your masters are better. Numbers of the quality craftsmanship. Perhaps only then the deposit's location will become clear."

The elves exchanged looks within their groups. "It's obvious to anyone Falon'Din to guide us and Dirthamen's knowledge at our disposal we would be victorious in claiming the mine." The leader of the twins' group stepped forward. "We have far more right to claim the mine in the twins' names than you do in your single god's. This is," – he smirked – "if June is even a God."

The mage bristled. "You dare insult our God," she growled. She pulled out her staff. "You'll step over your corpses, filth!"

The two groups advanced.

Solas pulled Hallmar out of the way. The two of them managed to slipped passed the twins' followers without being noticed. The group had fallen into argument placed with threats of killing the other.

"If they actually be starting a fight, I not be wanting to stick around for it." Hallmar eyed the groups.

"Agreed." Solas bowed his head to them.

They walked off down the passage, careful to not draw any more unwanted attention to themselves.

* ~ x ~ *

Solas stared into the dark liquid of his tankard. Over a week had passed since the encounter in the Deep Roads with the two factions. They had arrived back in Orzammar the night before and collapsed exhausted at Hallmar's daughter's home. Now, they were seated in the tavern. The ruckus of drunk dwarves pulsed through Solas's ears, but even the sound was lost on him.

The encounter was just another reminder of how far the others had fallen. How much they'd changed. He remembered his nephews when they were young. Falon'Din had been hardheaded, but fast to act to help the others. He loved spending time with Solas and trying to best Solas in combat.

Now, Falon'Din was known for his greed as well as an almost cruel nature towards his slaves. There was nothing of kind boy left in the man he had grown to be. Harsh to his slaves, even harsher to his followers for failure, he become someone more twisted than even his father, Elgar'nan, Solas's older brother. And this was saying a lot because no one could match Elgar'nan's quick, nasty temper.

Then there was Dirthamen. The sweet, quiet Dirthamen. When he had been a child there was a wonder in him at learning anything new and a wisdom in the way he spoke. He had always shown insight far beyond his years. Back during the war, Dirthamen had withdrawn from everyone but Falon'Din. His eyes changed from yellow to a dark purple for reasons Solas had tried to get the boy to tell of. Yet, Dirthamen hadn't uttered more than a few words. In fact, he hadn't spoken much at all since that time to anyone but Falon'Din.

Since their rise to "Godhood" Dirthamen had vanished from the public scene entirely. Solas remembered he had always been shy, but he wondered if the sweet, quiet boy he had known became just as cruel as his brother and his father.

"That be too gloomy a face for enjoying a good ale," Hallmar's voice shattered Solas's thought. "You be needing to be drinking that to wash that worry away." The dwarf took a large gulp of his drink and smacked his lips in satisfaction. "That be hitting the spot!"

Solas smiled, some of his worries about the changes in the others forgotten in the wake of Hallmar's company. He chuckled. "The last time you tried to drowned my 'gloom' with ale, we both ended up on the street for the night."

"Aye, my lady was quite the gale. She not being putting up none of that nonsense." Hallmar's face fell a little as he looked at the dirges of his drink.

Solas frowned. It hadn't been his intention to drag up bad memories for Hallmar. Solas opened his mouth ready to console his friend when Hallmar snapped his fingers. He looked up with a broad grin and shining eyes.

"That be it!"

"Pardon?" Solas was caught off guard by the dwarf's sudden change in mood.

"That being what you be needing to not be all doom and gloom all the time." Hallmar grinned. "You be needing yourself a good woman."

Solas gaped. "Where did this come from?" Doom and gloom?

"You be not having a woman, _ever_. Yeah, you get tumbled now and again but that not being the same thing as having a good woman."

Solas straightened. "We're not having this conversation."

"Aye, we be having it. You not being having a choice." Hallmar took a new tankard the bartend gave him. "You and me, when we being getting to the surface, we be finding you that good woman. I not be meaning your brother's woman or that creepy glowy girl that follows you around up there."

"Wisdom is a spirit. It isn't a woman," Solas corrected. "And there is _nothing_ between myself and Mythal!"

Hallmar snorted. "Right, I not be believing that." He took a long gulp of his ale. "Seriously, Solas," – he leaned across the table – "when be the last time you had a good tumble with a good woman?"

Solas felt his ears burn at the dwarf's question. It was getting hard to maintain a little dignity the more Hallmar spoke. "That isn't a topic for discussion." Solas leaned back in his seat and drank some of the ale. It was more in the vain hope the ale would make his embracement less apparent.

"It being a topic for discussion, elf. Someone got to be hitting sense into you now and again. None of your kind be having the guts to do it to their former, mighty King Solas."

A scowl pulled at Solas's lips. It was a blatant reminder that Fen'Harel was seen as a God among the People now, thus he was seen as a "God." He had done everything in his power to spread the word he was just like all the other elvhen in the world. It had done little to quill belief and the fear which came with it.

"We are not discussing it and it is not happening," Solas shot down the idea. He couldn't even picture himself on the surface with Hallmar doing what the dwarf was suggesting. "Besides, you've never been to the surface."

"Aye, this be true. And it be a topic I be wanting to discuss."

Solas narrowed his eyes. As long as it didn't have to do with picking up women, he was open to just about any other topic. "What does this lead you into, my friend?" Solas asked, keeping his tone even and free of the hope Hallmar was dropping the subject of women.

"I be realizing something as of late." Hallmar lifted his drink and looked at the dark liquid. "I be getting tired of political shit that be flying around us traveling merchants. It be draining. So, I got to be thinking after your last visit."

Solas cocked an eyebrow when Hallmar paused.

"I be thinking the next time you coming down here I be going to the surface with you."

"You do realize my life isn't devoid of politics, right?"

Hallmar snorted. "Aye, I be knowing that, but at least up there I be your friend not being the one head-butting the elf Gods. That be all on you."

"Immortal, mage kings," Solas corrected.

"That's the same thing," Hallmar snorted. "I be coming even if you not be wanting me to come."

Solas chuckled at this. "Your company is more than welcome, my friend." As long as they didn't actually go out looking for a "good woman."

"Aye!" Hallmar lifted his drink in a toast.

Solas joined him. Their tankards clanked together. In the end it would be a good thing to have Hallmar on the surface. The dwarf had a way of making even the grimmest of situations feel as if it wasn't as dark a place to be.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** So who is the trickster? Solas or Hallmar? I hope you guys enjoyed seeing more of Solas and Hallmar. And, yep, that dwarf isn't going anywhere. He's staying in the story to the bitter end! I'm actually really happy to be writing him again. He had a major role in the story with HerenyaHope and I adore writing him. He seems like the best friend for Solas, being almost his exact opposite. I hope you guys like his character as much as I enjoy writing him. **)**


	4. Chapter 4: Travelers

The hot sun glared down on pale skin unused to the merciless heat. Dirthamen pulled at one tattered sleeve. He sat on a rock staring at the grasses and sticks from bushes he'd gathered. A dead rabbit lay next to the unlit fire bit. He had managed to catch the rabbit through his lame version of magic and now sat there staring at the twigs. He had no means to light a fire. Not to mention skin the rabbit.

Oh, he had the knowledge of how to do both of them. This didn't mean anything though. Knowledge alone didn't make him a mage who could start fires with a thought. And it didn't mean he could light the fire by other means either.

"You going to eat that?" a sharp click sounded.

Dirthamen didn't look up. He didn't have to. He knew who had asked. "It's yours, Fear," his voice cracked. He should have been more worried about finding water in this heat, but he didn't have the energy to stand or the air left in his lungs.

The raven hopped over to the rabbit and placed one foot on it. He tore into the skin. The first few mouthfuls were nothing but fur before his beak came back covered in blood.

"Mine too!" Deceit joined him in ripping open flesh. Her icy eyes glowed as she swallowed a mouthful. "Not as good as the slaves' cooking, but it will do."

Fear clicked his beak before ripping into the rabbit again.

Dirthamen watched the two, feeling disconnected from himself. His stomach turned with hunger, yet he couldn't bring himself to stand and look for something else to eat. There were a few eatable plants nearby. Ones he had been eating for a week now, but what was the point? Outside of Fear and Deceit, he had no one left. Mythal wasn't his mother, Falon'Din would rather see him dead, and Solas… Solas thought Dirthamen a monster, the same as all the others.

The last week Dirthamen had tried to find something which would prove Solas wrong. Some small piece of hope in the past several centuries which would point to Dirthamen being like Mythal in his fa— in Solas's eyes. There was nothing. Each time he dove into the past, he searched. He had found moments where he would try to help a slave. Then, Falon'Din had taken them. Dirthamen could have spoken up, but he hadn't. They had paid for his silence. He had known what would happen to them and done _nothing_.

Each moment was the same. Every time, Dirthamen had known what was happening or was going to happen was wrong. And he, _he_ had nothing! What kind of person was he? To have sat back and done nothing. Oh, he knew he wanted to act. He remembered each moment as if it had happened minutes ago. Each time, every single time, he had wanted to speak out, to do something to stop the coming pain of another, and done nothing. Then, the small moments where he had helped children. Even that wasn't enough. Even in trying there, he had done terrible things. They were still slaves.

This had shown Dirthamen everything Solas believed about him and the others was correct. Dirthamen was a heartless monster.

Only scraps remained of the rabbit. A hissing click came from Fear. He leapt on Deceit, snapping his beak at her. The two tasseled over the remains. Blood dripped from their beaks to the grassy ground. Fear clawed Deceit before smacking his head against hers.

Stunned, Deceit staggered back. Deceit lowered her head. She appeared defeated.

Fear clicked his beak and moved to claim his prize.

Deceit stayed low, in a defeated position. Then, when Fear was close enough, she leapt at him. Her beak struck him. Fear fell back into the grass, sprawled. His legs stuck up in the air. Deceit snapped her beak a few times and straightened. She stretched her wings in a display of victory.

"Ignorant, oaf." She tossed back her blood stained head and turned to claim her prize.

Dirthamen watched her snap up the scraps. His stomach churned, rumbling. The scraps looked like a feast, glistening in the light of the sun. No – he forced his eyes closed. He wasn't so pathetic he would stoop so low as to eat _raw_ meat.

"Low, deceitful, bitch!"

Dirthamen opened his eyes a slit.

Fear had managed to get back to his feet. Feathers fluffed so he looked almost twice his normal size. "I'll rip out your throat. Feel fear!" he shrieked. Fear leapt at Deceit.

"Enough!" Dirthamen lifted his hand.

Fear froze mid leap. His body frozen in time. Then, Dirthamen moved the bird back through time until Fear was back on the ground, feathers fluffed.

"No more fighting," Dirthamen gasped. Each word broken. His breathing strained. It felt as if someone had reached down his throat and started to squeeze his lungs. Breathe. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out through his nose. His breathing eased, leaving him shaking and weak in the wake of the bout.

"Idiot! You nearly killed Master Dirthy!" Deceit huffed. The feathers on her neck spiked. "Then we would die, you feather brained fool!"

Dirthamen opened his eyes. He still monitored his breathing, taking air through his nose to ease back the attack. When he could breathe easier, Dirthamen stood. There was no point in staying here. He needed to find water and something to eat.

The air seemed to suck the moisture from Dirthamen. His lungs tightened. With each step it became a struggle to keep breathing through his nose. His dark hair fell around his face as a tangled, matted mess. His feet dragged against the grassy land. What was the point?

Dirthamen's foot caught. He staggered. The ground flew up at him. Pain lanced through his arms and, the next moment, he was rolling down a steep hill. He let his body go limp. Gravity pulled him down and momentum speed him forward after the hill had ended. Then he was stopped.

Every inch of his body ached. His stomach was pressed against the hot grasses. Dirthamen stared at each golden strand, standing tall even in this heat. Each breath pulled at his lungs. His breathing labored and harsh. What was the point?

"Dirthamen!" Fear shouted at the same moment Deceit called, "Dirthy!"

Dirthamen closed his eyes.

There was no point. In the end, his mere existence had been a mistake.

"You can't stop here," Fear snapped. The soft flutter of wings told Dirthamen the two demons had landed by him. "Get up!" The raven pulled at his hair.

Dirthamen didn't move. He was tired. So very tired and there was no point in fighting. No reason to not just lay there and sleep.

"Dirthamen!"

Darkness edged Dirthmanen's vision. He let himself drift into the comfortable abyss. Here, nothing mattered. He was a mistake. It was alright to drift off. To just vanish.

* ~ x ~ *

Soft sounds drifted down to Dirthamen through a haze of darkness.

"He's half starved." The voice was gentle, soft, and almost, was it worried?

"We should take him to Fen'Harel's sanctuary. Whatever he's running from was enough to drive him forward without food." The other voice was also female. This one was stern; commanding.

"We can't do that. He was moving away from the sanctuary. What if he and Fen'Harel don't see eye-to-eye?" the first woman protested.

A cool dampness touched Dirthamen's lips. Water trickled down into his mouth before the cloth was removed. The water tasted of the cloth. Yet, it was the most wonderful water he remembered drinking. Too little. Why had she removed the cloth? He _needed_ more water. His body craved it.

"Tch," the second woman snorted, "we can't keep him with us. What if whatever he's running from comes after us?"

"I know you're worried about the group, but we can't just turn away this poor soul and let him die."

"Watch me."

"Etha!" There was horror in the first woman's voice now.

The shout pulsed through Dirthamen's throbbing skull.

"Humph," the second woman grunted. "Inform me when he wakes." These words were followed by the sound of someone moving away.

Dirthamen groaned. His eyes creaked open a slit. Light struck him and he squeezed his eyes shut again. Where was he? The question pulled at his aching head.

Images burst into life behind his closed eyes. Dirthamen could see a cave and a group of elvhen within. He was at the far back looking out at them from the furs on the ground. All the elvhen there wore travel worn clothing. The gentle sound of chatter pulsed over the distant rain.

Dirthamen felt a cool hand against his forehead.

" _Da'len_ , can you hear me?" Her hand ran over his head, gentle and soft. The touch of a healer.

 _Da'len_? Dirthamen opened his eyes a slit once more. This time, he forced himself not to close his eyes the moment fire light hit them. He wasn't a child. Yet, the way he had been found by this group, starved and dehydrated would make any believe he was in his early twenties, as he appeared to be physically, instead of his sixtieth century.

"How do you feel?" Her voice was so soft. The sound of it foreign.

Dirthamen blinked a few times. He tried to lift his hand. His arm shook with the effort and pain. What a sorry excuse for an elvhen he was. He couldn't even lift his arm.

"You needn't force yourself, _da'len_ ," the first woman soothed him. "You're going to feel weak. Here."

The cloth touched his lips again.

Water! Dirthamen forced his arm to move. His hand latched onto the cloth, fingers closing around hers.

"No, _da'len_." The woman broke his grip with ease. "You mustn't drink too much."

"Not," the word pulled on Dirthamen's throat as harsh sandpaper would against flesh, "a child." He blinked and forced himself to move. His breathing labored as he pulled himself up.

"Easy now." The woman took hold of him and started to aid him.

Dirthamen recoiled from the touch. He slapped her hands away. No one touched him! Not without permission and certainly not to aid him in sitting up like he was a newborn.

The moment her hands moved away, Dirthamen fell back to the thin furs. He was too weak to even sit up on his own. He closed his eyes. He didn't want a child helping him. It was bad enough they were seeing him like this. Yet, who was he anymore? He had told himself Dirthamen was dead. How true was this now? He could no longer be Dirthamen. He no longer had the rights of the God-like figurehead the People had looked to for insight.

He tried again.

The woman didn't bother helping this time.

Dirthamen managed to lift himself a few inches. A fist closed around his lungs, squeezing the air from them. He fell back. Air gasped through thin airways. He couldn't breathe.

"Honestly, you act like a privileged, little child," the woman stated, unamused.

Dirthamen felt a plant touch his lips.

"Breathe in."

He knew the plant. It was one which servants had gathered from Sylaise to help ease breathing. Dirthamen took it and breathed in. The next moment, his lungs loosed. He took several deep breaths: in and out through his nose. This time he didn't make to sit up.

There was a long moment where the woman looked at him as if expecting something. Dirthamen blinked. It clicked what she was waiting for. "My thanks," he whispered, voice hoarse from his resent struggle for breath.

The woman smiled. "There, that wasn't so bad. Now, if you must insist on sitting up, let me aid you."

Dirthamen nodded. In the end, he had to remember he wasn't who he had been a week ago and he couldn't do things on his own. Right now, this included sitting up.

The woman smiled at him. She helped him up and then eased him so he was leaning against the wall. "There, that's not so hard to ask for help, now is it?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. For most of his life, he had been hiding his physical disadvantages from everyone around him. A few of the slaves had known only because they got the medication he might need if he overstepped and had an attack where his lungs closed. His brother had known all of it and protected Dirthamen from their father. He had helped hide it from their mother. Well, keep it from Elgar'nan that was. Dirthamen couldn't call Elgar'nan his father anymore.

The only other one who had known was Solas. It was just because his uncle – no, father – no, he had no right to call him that either. It was just because Solas had been observant and noticed the differences between Dithamen and Falon'Din as they'd grown. Ever since then, Solas had helped keep the knowledge hidden from the others lest Dirthamen be viewed as useless especially to his… to Elgar'nan. His uncle – no, Dirthamen had to scold himself again for the mental slip up. Solas had told him to never tell another. It was a piece of information the enemy would exploit or, even, one of the others could.

Thus, Dirthamen just looked at the woman. He then bowed his head in thanks, but refused to speak. It was dangerous. It was too dangerous to let anyone know he was physically frail. They already knew of his bad lungs. If they learned of his frailty, then what? He could see images of the future starting to form in his mind's eye. Dirthamen shoved them back and focused on the now as well as the hushed sights and sounds of the next moment.

"I need to speak with our leader," the woman was saying.

Dirthamen forced himself to listen to her.

"She needs to know you're awake and make a decision on…" she trailed off, her dark brown eyes troubled.

"What to do with me?" The words were uttered as little more than a whisper. Each one hurt to speak. He was still so very thirsty.

"Yes." The woman touched his hands.

It took all of Dirthamen's willpower not to jerk away from the touch. He wasn't privileged. He had no rank or place in this world and thus he needed to learn that others would touch him.

"I'm certain she will see reason and not throw you out."

Dirthamen frowned. "I'm not staying," he rasped.

The woman snorted. "You're in condition to do anything but sit there." She released his hands and stood. "So, you had better sit there and be good." She wagged her finger and winked with a teasing grin playing around her lips. She turned and moved off.

The woman headed across the cave to where another woman stood her back to them and eyes locked on the cave entrance.

Dirthamen turned his gaze from the two woman to the rest of the cave. Most who were there, were children, the two women by the entrance, and another woman sat by the fire. The second Dirthamen looked at her, an image flashed before his eyes of her holding a newborn baby. He blinked and looked at her again. She didn't look pregnant under her heavy travel clothes, but this didn't mean she wasn't.

The last person there was a man. He sat before the children. All of them seemed locked on what he was telling them. His hands were placed on either side of his light, golden brown hair, pointer and middle fingers crossed. He moved his head, making soft sounds like a halla.

The children giggled.

He continued on with the story, spurred on by the laughter of the few children. He moved his body as if to mime the movement of a halla.

The children cheered.

Dirthamen watched the group and noticed the woman by the fire glance over at the man. She smiled. Her eyes lighting up as the children's did. She stopped in her work and hid her laughter behind one hand. There was a slight flush to her cheeks. The man must have been the father of her unborn child. No, Dirthamen _knew_ the man was the father.

Envy washed crashed down on him in a sudden wave. The emotion left his ears ringing as he watched the woman, unseeing. Once, long ago, all Dirthamen had wanted was to have a family. He had placed the idea to the back of his because his brother wanted to help the others in rebuilding the People after the First War. Dirthamen had then been caught up in the work placed before them.

Years had passed before he had considered it again. He had ended up with a crush on one woman and then a crushed heart when she had chosen his brother over him. He had been happy for his brother when he had a healthy boy with the woman. Then this had repeated for several years until Dirthamen had found a girl who had loved him, but she had—

No, Dirthamen closed his eyes and forced back the memory of what had happened. He wouldn't think on it. He had nothing to be envious of. He had everything for many, many centuries. Everything but a family outside of his brother, the man he had wanted desperately to be his father, and his mother. Until now.

Dirthamen opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to his hands. The once pale skin now red and blistered, raw with sunburn. He pulled at his tattered sleeve. He knew it had been Fear and Deceit who had gotten these people to help him. And their reasons were just because if he died they would die. That was all his life was to them, away to keep on living forever.

He stretched out his sun red fingers. The skin pulled. A twinge of pain with the movement made him blink but not react otherwise. He would heal and he would live. This group would keep them with them if he could pull his own weight among them. In turn he would get food and the safety of numbers. Yet, he didn't want that and there was still the possibility they would want nothing to do with him. The fear he could bring his problems down upon them.

If he left, the two ravens would keep him alive. If he stayed he would be alive and suffering less. He deserved to suffer after all he and the others had done to the People. They weren't gods, they weren't kings, or honored-elders, or even generals. They were leeches! Each day they sucked more from the People. The pain they caused left little good in this world and for what? For their own power and greed.

Dirthamen closed his eyes. His hand curled over his other, nails biting into the raw skin. The pressure did little to cause pain. His hand shook in the other. He was too weak to hurt himself. He was too weak to survive and live on his own. In the end, Elgar'nan had been right. He couldn't survive in the world. Not without Falon'Din there. His brother had protected him and made certain he survived. It had been his brother's strength which had shielded him. He was too weak, too frail; too sickly. His only strength lay within his ability to predict events. And the ability his fa- Elgar'nan had forced upon him.

"They're back!" the woman who had helped Dirthamen called.

Dirthamen opened his eyes a slit. His gaze still on his hands.

More of the People filed into the cave. A ram was carried between many of them.

"Andruil was kind to us today," said one of the hunters. She bowed her head to Etha. "We managed to catch enough for a good meal this day."

"Wonderful news." Etha smiled at the hunters. Pride glinted in her pale, blue eyes. "Let us prepare a meal and then rest."

The hunters bowed their heads to Etha. They moved off to skin the catch and help prepare a male.

Dirthamen watched them. His heart twisted at the sound of them giving thanks to Andruil.

"The healer says you're in no condition to be placed back in the world on your own."

The sharp, stern voice of Etha drew Dirthamen's attention to her. She now stood before him. Her eyes seemed to pierce straight through him as if she could see everything. He looked into her face, studying her. She was in her first century, respected for her age here and looked to be in her thirties. She had the look of one who had seen the worst of life and he knew she had.

"I will leave shortly." Dirthamen kept his voice polite. He gave the slightest bow of his head. "My thanks for saving my life," he hesitated, " _hahren_." The word pulled at him, foreign to one who was known to be older than all but a few others.

Etha scowled. "I'm not kicking you out, _da'len_."

Dirthamen balled his hand into a fist, crumpling his dark gray clothes. Again with the calling him a child. He forced back his annoyance at it. She would assume he was a child given how much of an idiot he had been the past week. And the fact he had called her "elder."

"You need food, water, and rest before you're able to go anywhere. All of which we can provide. Once you're recovered and you still wish to go, then leave and pray to the Creators I never see your face again." Her eyes flashed. She turned on her heel and walked away without another word.

Dirthamen looked at her. He had expected worse and thus just sat there, watching her go.

After a time, he turned his gaze on the rest of the group. They were a band of travelers, he had been able to tell this from the start. From what he knew of these groups was they lived on the move, trading what they could for clothing and other essentials. Otherwise they lived completely off the land.

A pot had been placed over the fire. Two people stood at it stirring the contents. Others were placing the meat and other ingratiates into the pot. The laughter and teasing between the members of the group, made Dirthamen blink. He turned his gaze to the children. They were eager in their attempts to help the adults prepare the meal. Their eyes shining and faces brimming with smiles.

The man who had been telling the children the story earlier, moved in behind one of the people at the pot. It took a moment for Dirthamen to realize it was the man's lover. He took hold of her from behind and swept her away from the pot.

"Ah!" She screamed in shock. Some of the soup's contents flew from the pot. "Mahvir!"

 _Whack_ – the sound of wood hitting flesh was dulled by the roars of laughter from the others.

"Ouch, _lath_ , wooden spoons can kill a man." The man, Mahvir, winced in false pain before he kissed her.

This caused those watching to poke fun at the pair. The kids made faces and turned away. "Stop eating her face, Mahvir!" one would shout.

"Too gross," another would mime being sick.

A small smile twitched at the corners of Dirthamen's thin lips. The smile lasted less than a heartbeat before it fell away. Falon'Din had made such comments whenever Mythal and Elgar'nan had shown even the little affection they had before others. Dirthamen could see his brother as a child and disgust just as clearly as he could see these children.

Pain twisted Dirthamen's heart. He should have stayed. He should have just let Falon'Din kill him there and then. The coward he was, had chosen to run. Dirthamen kept his eyes locked on the children as they were shooed away.

The kids laughed and raced away. It was then one of them took notice of Dirthamen. He blinked and looked at Dirthamen then edged towards him.

"We're not supposed to go near him," hissed another one of the children.

The first child ignored the other. He edged closer. "Do you got good stories?" he asked Dirthamen. His brown eyes large with wonder and curiosity.

"He got no good stories." The second one looked over at the adults. She had worry in her light eyes. "We shouldn't be talking to him."

The boy continued to move closer.

"Ven." The girl moved after him. She glanced towards the adults.

"You have to got new stories for us." Ven stopped before Dirthamen. "How else your hands turn red? That a story." He glare back at the girl. "It is, Nehn."

"We're not supposed to be here." Nehn rung her shirt and eyed Dirthamen. There was real fear there.

"I won't harm either of you, children," he told them.

"See!" Ven placed his small fists on his hips, chest puffed up as he looked at Nehn. "Story then!" he demanded as he turned back to Dirthamen. He settled himself on the ground before Dirthamen.

"I've never told one."

"Tell us about Dirthamen and Falon'Din!" the girl joined Ven. "They twins like Ven and I, but they got same dad. We don't. We still twins though."

"Uh-ah." Ven nodded and took his sister's hand in his. "We not look like one another though and it said Dirth look like Falon."

"Dirth _amen_! Falon' _Din_!" Nehn corrected.

The two children still believed they were twins. Dirthamen's heart twisted as he remembered his brother's enraged features and the lust for power.

"Same thing," the boy snapped.

"Not." Nehn huffed. "Dirth not Dirthamen."

"Story on them!" demanded Ven, turning his eyes back on Dirthamen. "Mahvir gives good ones 'bout them, but we know all his now. We want new. You gotta have new." The boy leaned forward, eyes wide and pleading.

A story on himself? Dirthamen stared at the child. He didn't have a clue what to tell the boy. Or how to tell a story. He thought hard on what to do. An image of his unc– Solas telling him and Falon'Din stories came to him.

"You sure you want one on them?" Dirthamen asked. "Why not a story on some other subject?"

"Them!" Ven protested.

"You got different story? Not one on Creators?" The girl's eyes were wide. "Tell how magic works?"

"That dull. That no story!" Ven glared at his sister.

"Why don't I explain how magic works through a story?" Dirthamen asked. He liked this girl. She reminded him of him when he was younger.

"Tell story! Tell it on twin Creators!" Ven placed both hands on the ground.

"No, tell magic work!" the girl protested.

Dirthamen frowned. "Why don't I tell you a story about two twins: Dirth and Falon, as they learned to use magic?" he asked. It was easy to talk to these two. Children had always been easy to talk to though. Their boundless curiosity and excitement over anything new made warmth spread through Dirthamen.

"Ah, but I wanted one about the creators," Ven pouted.

"You two will get a story later," another stated.

Dirthamen looked up to see the man who had been entraining the children earlier standing over them. He held a bowl in his hand.

"The meal's ready. Etha might get evil eyes if she saw you two speaking with our newcomer here."

"You're not going to tell, Mahvir?!" The boy's eyes grew wide.

"We weren't meaning to break our promise," Nehn added, her voice trembling with worry.

"Not if you two scat before she notices." Mahvir winked at them.

"Scatting!" both raced off.

Dirthamen felt his heart sink a little. It would have been nice to tell them a story. For too long, many of the People hadn't come to him for wisdom or had and hadn't been able to get through the trials. It would have been nice to share something with the two children like the nine of them used to before they had been seen as "gods."

"They weren't nipping you too much for stories, right?"

"No." Dirthamen turned his gaze back on the man.

"Good. Oh, here!" Mahvir held out the bowl to Dirthamen. "You need to eat or you might pass out again." He grinned. "We can't have that happening, now, can we?" His voice was light almost cheery and there was sparkle of laughter in his brown eyes as he looked down at Dirthamen.

Dirthamen started to take the bowl then lowered his hand. This group had already helped him enough and, if he took the food they would want him to give something in return. "I've nothing to give in return for the food or aid," Dirthamen confessed.

Laughter filled the air. Mahvir doubled over without spilling the food. "You don't have to pay for it! Just stay with your fellow travelers and pull your own weight in the group. Then we'll call it all even." He winked at Dirthamen.

"My thanks, but I must decline." It was for the best Dirthamen traveled alone. If his brother ever found him, it would be easier to escape and not worrying about a child getting caught in the fray between them.

Mahvir settled himself on the ground. He moved his legs with his free hand. "Eat."

"No, I—"

Dirthamen gagged when Mahvir shoved the spoon into his mouth. He managed to swallow the food. The hot liquid scolded his throat and mouth. He gasped, eyes watering. The feeling of the pain echoed through the past. The pain multiplied by the feeling of the echo.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dirthamen demanded, gasping through the pain.

The man grinned all the wider. "Saving your pathetic life, that's what. Now, shut up and eat!"

Stunned, Dirthamen stared at the man, mouth open.

Mahvir lifted the spoon, the food dripping from the sides.

"Wait!" Dirthamen ducked. "I can feed myself, thanks!"

Mahvir chuckled. "Then, feed yourself or I will continue to feed you like a baby."

Dirthamen took the bowl. He started to eat the food. The taste clung to his tongue even through the scolded taste buds. Each bite was a struggle. The plan taste of the meat, water, and salt was overpowering. He could taste every bite before taking it, as he took, and lingered in his mouth. He suppressed a shudder. Ugh, he hated eating.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** A note on Dirthamen: his power to control time would make him way too powerful of a character (really like a god) so to even it out I made him physically frail and he has asthma.

 **NOTE:** The story has been edited. I will be going back through it in a day to reedit the chapter. **)**


	5. Chapter 5: Sign Unseen

Solas forced himself not to rub his pounding skull. That was the last time he let Hallmar convince him to gamble and drink. The drinking would have to stop. He admitted the waking from it was not as fun as the gambling and drinking part. Though, he should have figured this out centuries ago.

The door slammed nearby. Stone echoed and Solas winced.

"You drank a little too much," Hallmar chuckled.

"You're the one who kept bringing more," Solas stated.

Hallmar smirked. "Aye, and be the best idea. You get better at gambling the drunk you be."

Solas rumbled his temple and stood. "Shall we just head back above ground?"

"Not until you be out of that hangover." The dwarf stirred Solas back towards the bed. "Sleep it off. You be liking sleep, so sleep!"

Solas glared at him. He didn't argue and collapsed back onto the bed. Perhaps he should sleep off the headache. Though it would be more helpful if he could touch the Fade. Solas closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. This didn't surprise him. There was so little of the Fade here it was impossible to sleep.

The door closed again.

Solas rolled over and stared at the stone. His mind wondered back to the thoughts before the drinking had started. So little was known of who Dirthamen had grown into. Though considering who Dirthamen's father was… it wasn't so hard to picture his once sweet nephew being just as cruel as Elgar'nan or Falon'Din. Shadow and mirror. That was what the people called the twins. This could point to Dirthamen being an image of his brother.

Solas closed his eyes. He didn't want to think on this. His family, those he had loved, had vanished long ago. All that remained of his family were twisted shells of who they had once been. Corrupted by the lust for power, distorted by greed; they were no longer his family.

* ~ The Past ~ *

"Get back here!"

Solas looked up, the beads and bones within his hair clicking from the movement. A small boy stumbled into the cavernous room. He tripped over his feet before scurrying over to Solas. His small hands closed around Solas's legs as he half hid behind Solas, half under the chair.

"Dirth!" another stormed into the room. His eyes flashed with rage, long, golden hair fell down his back, neat and clean. His gaze snapped to Solas. Eyes a shade of brown so light they were almost embers. "Brother," his voice was tight, curt. "I seem to have misplaced my," – he hesitated – "son."

A scowl pulled at the corners of Solas's lips.

Little Dirth slid to floor beside Solas's legs. His small hands held tighter to Solas's leg.

"I can see to him, brother," Solas stated, his voice even.

His brother's jaw tightened. His hands balled into fists as the temperature increased in the cave. "He needs to learn to be as strong as his brother," Elgar'nan's voice was tight with his rising rage.

"He can be taught later." Solas locked gazes with Elgar'nan.

For a long moment Elgar'nan glared at him, seething in silence before he turned on his heel. "Fine, then you can teach that waste of air!" he snapped. He was gone in the next moment.

Solas felt his scowl deepen. Waste of air? He had known his brother was disappointed in Dirth, but to go as far as to call him that… Solas looked down at his nephew.

Dirth blinked up at him. There were cuts lacing his face and hands. The twins were still extremely young. Dirth only just reached his knee in height. Smaller and slighter than his twin, Falon. They were both too young to be placed through the training Elgar'nan was putting them through.

Without making a sound, Dirth clambered up into Solas's lap. His eyes stretched wide as he looked at what Solas had been working on. It was a painting, well sort of one. Solas was still working out what plants would work best and which stones would hold images. They hadn't been away from those who had enslaved their People for long. Only one cycle of the seasons. One cycle out of the five the boys had lived through.

The boy's hand was so small beside the images, his eyes wide with wonder. Then he turned his bright, yellow-gold eyes on Solas. "Talk, Uncle, please?"

Solas smiled. "What do you want to learn?"

Dirth pointed at the stone. "What it of?" he whispered. His voice was small and quiet.

Solas looked at the picture. It wasn't really too good of one but it had been an idea he had when he started painting for it to be of their story. "Our history," he told the boy. "Or an attempt at a moment in our history."

The boy tilted his head to one side and looked at the painting, then at the paints. He placed one small finger into the bowl and pulled it out. "It wet," he muttered.

Solas smiled and placed his hand on Dirth's head. "Of course it's wet."

"It too wet, it run from stone." He pointed again at the attempt at the picture.

A small breath escaped Solas. Of course, Dirth was right the mixture wasn't right again and it was causing the colors to bleed together.

"A problem for another day," Solas turned his gaze back on Dirth. "Will you tell me why you were running from your father?"

Dirth shifted and looked up into Solas's eyes. His bright yellow gaze was the mirror image of both Dirth's twin and Mythal's. Solas could see Mythal in him every time he looked into Dirth's eyes. Yet, there was nothing of Elgar'nan's temper or forceful personality in the boy.

"I couldn't run fast," Dirth murmured and looked at his cut hands. He pulled on his sleeve. "Falon slowed for me but Father not like that and got mad at me. He said I too slow and I a mistake." Dirth looked back at Solas. "Am I?"

"No." A mistake? Solas knew his brother was many things, but to call his own son a mistake? Granted he had just heard Elgar'nan call Dirth a waste of air.

"But I not fast. I not strong like Falon. What if we fight the dark ones? I would be in the way."

"You're not fighting the dark ones until you're much older."

"But they come for us? For all us?"

This was true; yet, Solas felt it was wrong to let someone as young as his nephews fight. Dirth, especially, was so small and there was no denying Falon was stronger than Dirth was.

Dirth blinked. A small, almost questioning frown on his small face. "Am I going to die in next fight?" he asked. "Father said I would if I not run and fight like Falon can."

"You're not going to fight in it."

"Father wants us to," Dirth stated and shifted on Solas's lap. "I want to help too. Can I? I don't want to be a in the way."

For a long moment Solas looked at Dirth. The child was so small, so light. How could he possibly think of fighting the dark ones? Yet, if Solas knew his brother, Elgar'nan would place his own sons into the fight. They could walk which, to Elgar'nan, meant they were ready to fight for their lives.

"We'll fight your strengths, how about that?" Solas soothed Dirth's soft, black hair.

Dirth blinked and nodded. "I have strength?" he asked.

"We all do." Solas lifted Dirth as he stood. "I can figure out paints another day. Let's spend some time and surprise your father."

Dirth's face let up. "I show him I strong too?"

"Yes."

"But I not." His face fell.

Solas smiled at the little boy his arms. "That's not the strength I'm talking about, Dirth."

* ~ x ~ *

Solas opened his eyes, snapping out of the dream of the past in a haze. It took him a long moment to remember where and even when he was. Solas closed his eyes, not against a headache, but rather against a dull ache in his chest.

Dirthamen had been such a bright child. His strength, as it had turned out, had been one of the mind. Out of all the others he had matched Solas in tactics until Dirthamen had been much older. After his eyes had changed color, Dirthamen had turned the tables on Solas and beaten him in games of tactics.

So much time had passed, so much had changed for all of them. There was no point in thinking of how Dirthamen had been. The meeting of his and his brother's people the other week showed Dirthamen was just as greedy as the rest of the _evanuris_.

Solas stood. A shiver raced up his body when his bare feet touched the cold stone. He would never get used to the deep places in the world. The dwarven cities were ones he was almost always happy to leave behind him.

A small breath escapsed Solas. It was time to return to Elvhenan and the fight against the others. With Hallmar's aid, one mine had been stopped, but Solas knew it would do little if he couldn't act on having stopped June's people from gaining this mine.

Solas put back on his armor before he stepped out of the room.

"I see you be up now." Hallmar turned to Solas. A smile appeared on the dwarf's features. "Ready to be getting out of here?"

Another dwarf sat across the low table from Hallmar. Her features worried as she eyed Solas. "Take care of my father, will you?"

"I will," Solas promised as he gave the woman a small bow of his head.

"I'll be fine. Solas's lot are good fighters now. It's not like I be walking blind onto a battlefield."

The woman scowled. "That's exactly what you're doing!" The anger melted from her round features. "Please just be careful. I want you to live long enough to meet your grandson when he's grown."

Hallmar smiled at her and placed his hand over hers. "I will be coming back to see him," Hallmar vowed. He stood and gave the woman a kiss on her hand. "Be safe, my little girl."

The woman looked at him with sad eyes. "You don't need to go, da. You have a good a job here. You're respected by the merchants and by everyone who knows you. Please stay."

Solas looked at the pair and kept his expression even. It was Hallmar's choice in the end. Nothing Solas would do or say would convince him to stay. Yet, Solas couldn't help but wonder if matters had been different in his own life, if he would have had a child who wished for him to stay as well. He shoved the thought aside. In the end, such thoughts were only wishes of moments long passed.

The People needed him. They needed to be freed and shown the lies which had been woven into the world.

"I want a new life on the surface where none be knowing me," Hallmar soothed the woman's auburn hair. "I'll be back, little love." He kissed her again before he grabbed his helm. He turned to Solas. "Ready when you be."

Solas nodded. "My thanks for everything, my lady." He bowed to the woman before he turned. He grabbed his staff on the way out.

Hallmar took a deep breath when he appeared outside of his daughter's home. He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Let be going! I'm more than ready for seeing more the world above."

Solas cocked an eyebrow but didn't otherwise comment.

The two of them moved back through the city until they reached a room within the upper part of the city. Here was a hall with a few eluvians. Each would lead to different parts of the crossroads.

A few of the elvhen who were there paused and eyed Solas as he and Hallmar passed. Solas ignored the looks and head for one of the eluvians. The sound of Hallmar's footsteps halted a little before he raced after Solas.

Solas stopped before it and lifted his hand. He stirred the direction of the eluvian until it lead to the correct part of the crossroads. The journey through the roads took longer than Solas cared to admit. He was forced to slow his pace to match Hallmar's. Non-elvhen always had difficulty walking through the beautiful roads.

Solas was more than happy when they arrived at the sanctuary. At least until he saw one of Mythal's men standing on the side of the eluvian. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" Solas asked as he stopped before the other elf.

"My lady has requested your presences. I was informed you were out and thus waited here for your return." The elf's pale gaze locked onto Solas. His expression almost blank. "You know where she will be." He gave Solas a curt nod before walking through the eluvian.

"I be more than happy to wait here," Hallmar stated as he settled himself on the ground. "You couldn't pay me enough to be going back into that," he hesitated, eying the eluvian, "place." The tone of his voice implied he had been wanting to call the crossroads by another name.

"It might take some time," Solas stated. "We could get you into the sanctuary proper."

"I be fine here."

Solas hesitated. There had to be a reason Mythal had asked after Solas. It wouldn't do anyone any good to keep her waiting. "You know where to meet

"Very well." Solas looked back at Hallmar. He turned and gestured to the other elf. "I won't be long."

The trip was must faster this time. Solas exited an eluvian to where he normally met Mythal. The space within the crossroads was bright and beautiful. Tress mirrored the world beyond the crossroads and lined a path down to where Mythal stood. Behind Solas was an eluvian framed by a dragon and a wolf.

Solas started down the steps but stopped when noticed Mythal wasn't alone. A frown pulled at Solas's lips. The elf across from Mythal wore fine robes of greens and gold. He tilted his head back, causing the gold tipping his pointed ears to catch the light.

"You know where that insect is!" spat the elven man. His yellow eyes flashed with rage as he took a pace towards Mythal. "Tell me!

Solas moved down the steps, careful not to draw the attention of the man. His eyes narrowed then widened as he recognized one of the twins. It was Falon'Din. The moment this fell into place, Solas stopped. His gaze flickered over the large space. There was no sight of Dirthamen anywhere.

This made Solas wary. There were only a few times in his memory he knew the twins to be apart. The one which wrankled him the most had been Dirthamen bound two demons to him in order to catchup to his brother. Yet, there was no sign of Dirthamen anywhere, not even lurking hear the eluvian.

The gold rings on Falon'Din's hand flashed as he caught hold of Mythal's shoulder. "Where is he?" Falon'Din snarled, sounding more like his father with each new word uttered. Rage leaked through his teeth and blazed as a fire in his eyes. "If I learn you're hiding him—"

"Dirthamen isn't here, Falon'Din," Mythal cut off her eldest child, her tone even. She locked gazes with Falon'Din. Her eyes calm. "If he wanted you to find him, you would have found him by now."

Falon'Din scolwed.

Solas shifted.

Falon'Din's gaze snapped to him. His scowl twitched into a sneer as he released his mother. "If it isn't the Dread Wolf himself." Falon'Din started towards Solas. Each step clicked against the stone. More gold could be seen with each step he took, lacing his toes and ankles. "I bet the insect raced to you to cower and hide like the pathetic bug he is."

Bug? Solas felt a frown pull at his lips. "I've not seen Dirthamen in many centuries, not since our last co-project at least." Which was more than true, given the last time Solas had seen his other nephew had been back when the People viewed them as honored elders and not kings let alone gods.

Falon'Din turned so he was able to see both Solas and Mythal. "If I learn either of you are protecting him it will be war!" his eyes flashed with raw hatred as he glared at Solas. Contempt appared on his features as he looked at his mother. "One way or another will find the insect." Falon'Din strode passed Solas and stopped. "And _mother_ ," – the word sounded as if it was something foul on the tip of his tongue – "I will learn who it was you betrayed father with."

Solas turned. His gaze locked on Falon'Din's back as he nephew stepped through the eluvian. Air seemed to crash down on Solas. That hadn't been pleasant to say the least.

"What was that about?" Solas turned to Mythal. "What was he talking about, Mythal? And why was Falon'Din calling Dirthamen an 'insect'?" Solas moved down the rest of the steps as he asked these questions. He stopped before her, eyes locked onto hers.

Mythal looked at Solas. Her gaze was sad. "My thanks for arriving when you did, Solas. All I know is Dirthamen is missing and Falon'Din is trying to find him."

Solas frowned. The words made his heart flutter with unease. It felt as if she was dodging the questions, as if she knew more of what was going on than she wanted to tell him. And, yet, Solas knew better than press the issue. He doubted what was happening between his nephews was the reason she had asked him here.

"I doubt you asked me here to stop Falon'Din," Solas changed the subject.

"Walk with me, old friend."

His brow furled. He fell into step beside her, arms behind his back.

"There is a group of elvhen moving away from your boarders, I believe they are wanderers."

Solas didn't speak. He had known a group of wanderers passed by the sanctuary twice a year. Most of them time they stopped for supplies and to exchange news with those are the edge of the sanctuary. Solas had never interacted with the band himself.

"I received some information the others are seeking to put an end to wanderers entirely."

"Wanderers don't harm anyone," Solas stated. "Why would the others seek to stop them? They still worship the others."

Mythal cocked an eyebrow at him. "This maybe true, but the others don't want to risk the group joining forces with you and thus seek to stop them. Since they are on your boarders right now, I thought it best to inform you. It isn't an attack against your… domain."

"You aren't going to try to stop them?" Solas asked.

"I advised the others against it. You know your brother, he thinks he's always right."

Solas closed his eyes. "I can send a small group to warn them and try to aid them. But wanderers don't tend to accept outside aid."

"It would still be wise to try."

"Agreed." Solas opened his eyes and looked at Mythal.

They had stopped beside one of the tress. Solas found himself looking into her eyes. Long ago his heart would have fluttered at being this close to her, but such feelings had faded with centuries. She had chosen Elgar'nan and now all which remained was friendship. And one night shared between them.

Solas turned from her.

"Solas, be careful. I doubt Elgar'nan will keep turning a blind eye to our actions."

Solas paused. "I am the one poking the hornets' nest. If his rage lashes out, I will be the one it's directed at." With those words, Solas left Mythal by the tree. His mind turned over all she had told him and the fact Dirthamen was missing. This was most curious.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** Happy Thanksgiving!

I didn't edit the chapter because I wanted to get this up today. I will go back and edit it tomorrow.

I changed what Elgar'nan looked like because the original design made him stand out more. So his eyes are an amber color instead of orange. **)**


	6. Chapter 6: Last Family Gathering

**UNEDITED**

 **Notice:** Hey, guys, I urge you to check out a co-fan-fiction I have been working on with a friend of mine. It's being posted on her page because it's her Inquisitor. Mine is in there as well, but he's not as obvious as an Inquisitor as hers. The Story is titled: Blood of the People and is being posted by HerenyaHope. I also urge you guys to check out her solo fan-fic: His Homecoming.

 _Blood of the People_ is a three book series she and I have been working on for a while now. We're still editing and posting book 1 even as we work on book 3. Soon, another story, playing off that series we've been writing will be posted on my fan-fiction account.

I hope to see some of you guys taking an interest in that series as well!

* * *

Silence.

Falon'Din was used to silence within the main temple, but not this silence. His servants moved around him, finishing helping him into the heavy formal wear. Even the normal sounds of them moving around him, seemed all too silent. It wasn't a physical silence, rather one he which he had created upon himself.

The robes were fine, woven from the best silks in the world and died to the pale greens Falon'Din preferred. Gold wrapped around his neck and came to down as v just passed his chest. Normally, he would have gone bare chested to intimidate those lesser elven he met with. These robes were made for a meeting with those of equal rank to himself. The gold silk rimmed the hem of the robes and the long sleeves. More gold covered his fingers, capping the very tips before turning to bands. Heavy gold also was placed on his arms just over the robes to show some of his muscle.

The final touches were a heavy, green cape and a beautiful mask. The shoulders of the cape were made from pure gold as well. The golden mask mimicked the blood writing his slaves and sentinels wore as well as a half skull of an elven.

Once the mask had been placed, he flicked his wrist in dismissal of the servants.

They bowed from the space, leaving Falon'Din completely alone.

Silence.

Falon'Din looked into the mirror and his golden mask. Smooth skin framed his golden-yellow eyes. His long, black hair was done in a loose fish braid. The elegance of the clothes, the beauty of it them showed the power and wealth his temples had gathered over the centuries.

But they weren't just his temples. While he had temples dedicated solely to him, even those still had some homiage to his-to Dirthamen. The main temples he had always shared with his brother.

Falon'Din closed his eyes.

Not his brother. He had to remind himself of this fact. After all, they weren't even pure twins. Dirth, his precious little brother – not brother, shared only the same mother as Falon'Din. Their father was different. Dirth's father was-he was Fen'Harel. The traitor within their family. This in turn made Dirthamen a traitor. He wasn't Falon'Din's precious brother, rather he was a bastard.

Falon'Din opened his eyes a slit. For a heartbeat he wondered where the image of his brother had gone. The normal shadow he saw in the mirror behind him.

Pain stabbed at Falon'Din's heart as the memory sank in. His eyes burned. Dirth wasn't there.

Falon'Din turned from the mirror and strode from the room. He was greeted by his honor guard of sentinels. They bowed low, seeming fewer as out of habit they lined only one side of the hall.

"What are you doing?" Falon'Din snapped. "Line both sides!" he demanded.

The back half leapt to attention and moved to mirror the others across the hall. "Forgive us, Lord Falon'Din," they spoke as one. All of them bowed even lower. "It won't happen again."

"It had better not," Falon'Din growled. He tried to force his voice to be the same harsh, angry level his father always showed when speaking to his sentinels. Lesser begins as his father called all other elven.

He started through the line of his sentinels. Each step pulled at his heart. His words echoed in his ears even as the missing sound of light footfalls rang through him harsher than any blade piercing flesh. His very shadow felt as if it had been ripped from his body.

Dirthamen.

Falon'Din forced his features to remain straight under his mask. Dirthamen was an insect. He was the bastard child of Mythal, not Falon'Din's precious little brother. Yet, while Falon'Din had gained all the wealth, all the temples and followers, half of him now felt as if it were missing.

The _eluvian_ came into view, placed on a dais such that it was still the center of attention, yet, low enough Dirthamen would never have problems mounting the rise. Falon'Din's heart twisted as he remembered that conversation with his brother and the pushing to keep this one _eluvian_ low, sacrificing some appearance to keep up the farce his brother, his precious brother was healthy.

No.

Falon'Din shoved aside all thoughts of Dirthamen. He couldn't view Dirthamen as his brother. He was an insect, something which marked Falon'Din's mother's betrayal of his father. Dirthamen didn't have a right to exist in this world!

The feeling of magic wrapping around Falon'Din was enough to drive all thoughts of Dirthamen from him. The paths between the _eluvians_ had been cleared by his sentinels, allowing for him to travel without the eyes of lesser elven on him.

The trip through the Crossroads was short. He stepped through the _eluvian_ to a beautiful room deep within the Arlathan. The chamber was round with nine chairs of gold lining the wall. They were spread just far enough apart to draw the eye to each chair in turn, but not so far to make conversation between the nine of them impossible.

One other already stood within the chambers. His long, golden robes appeared almost akin to flame. Golden-blond hair fell down his back melding into the gleaming robes. His stance was noble, commanding, familiar.

"Father," Falon'Din whispered the title. He stopped just in the chambers, eyes locked on his father. The one who had truly uncovering the truth of Dirthamen's tainted birth

Elgar'nan turned towards Falon'Din. Amber eyes burned as if flame in the light of the grand room. His features were sharp and stern. Many who had seen Elgar'nan and Solas standing side by side said they shared the same facial structure. But Elgar'nan's nose was sharp and narrow, eyebrows thin and stern. His lips where thin and pulled into a perpetual scowl. Really the only feature which Falon'Din's uncle shared with his older twin was the cleft chin. A feature shared between all of Elgar'nan's children as well.

"Falon'Din," Elgar'nan's voice was soft as snapping embers. "Come forth, my son." Elgar'nan lifted one armored hand. The gold of the armor glittered with the movement and drew Falon'Din's eye down his father's robed arm to the golden armor plating on his chest. It was light armor, such as the armor the sentinels wore, but filled with far more wealth. Armor crafted for their father by Falon'Din's younger brother June.

Falon'Din moved towards his father with cation and a glimmer of admiration. Elgar'nan was the very panicle of power and wealth. His appearance made all tremble and fall to bended knee before him. Falon'Din longed for such to happen with his followers. To inspire such a loyalty none would ever think of betraying him.

"Father," Falon'Din spoke his relation with Elgar'nan and bowed his head to his father. "I-I tried to kill the insect, father, but he escaped." His mouth went dry at the words. His heart twisted with grief over referring to his brother as an "insect" even if he was one.

He dropped his gaze to the glittering seal under foot. A reminder of a time the nine of them had stood shoulder to shoulder. When days were dark and bleak. His heart ached with longing for this simpler days. When he and his brother had been together. When all of them had been a real family.

Elgar'nan growled. "Why am I only now hearing of this, Falon'Din?" His father's breath was warm against exposed flesh of Falon'Din's face.

"I believed I knew where he was going," Falon'Din explained. "I tried to track him down to finish the job and take his power like you wanted, but the _wolf_ ," he spat his uncle's title, "was just as confused as Mythal was on hearing the insect wasn't with me."

"So he didn't run to his true father."

Falon'Din looked at Elgar'nan so fast pain lanced through neck. "What?" the question logged in his throat and felt as if it was pulled from him in his utter shock. Fen'Harel, Solas, he was-he was Dirth's real father.

"No matter, the insect is still a traitor. We will treat him as such to the others, understood, my son?" Elgar'nan's hand was heavy on Falon'Din's shoulder.

"Yes-yes, father," Falon'Din choked on the words.

"Good." His father's hand slid from his shoulder. Elgar'nan turned and moved several paces away to stand in the center of the Abyss's seal, arms behind his back. "While you're not taking the insect's powers is a setback, we will forge ahead. Your younger siblings have been informed of this treachery already as well as the insect's death. We will keep it as such. This is the very last meeting eight of us meet in peace." His amber eyes flashed as he turned back to Falon'Din. "No more shall we put up with Mythal's antics or Solas's little rebellions among the slaves. It's time to remove them both."

Excitement boiled within Falon'Din. He straightened, looking his father in the eye. "And then the People will fall under only the six true gods," he finished, "as you planned, father."

Elgar'nan flicked his wrist.

Falon'Din moved back from him towards one of the nine points on the seal. This meeting, this family reunion was for something they had done since the seal on the Abyss had first been created.

When Falon'Din stopped, a small click sounded in the very heart of the room. It took at least three to activate the trapdoor of the Foci. He looked a few chairs to his left to see his father had taken his place as well, standing in his noble way to wait for the others to appear.

The last meeting of the eight of them. Falon'Din took a deep, calming breath. The last one had been nearly thirty centuries of the years ago. Not long after they had made first contact with the dwarves. It had been the last time the People had viewed them as rulers instead of gods. While Solas had been present then as well, he hadn't spoken with them or looked towards Falon'Din or Dirth.

A figure stepped from the _eluvian_. It was June. His robes, placed over his own set of armor, were more technical. He wore a simple, yet elegant long purple shirt and a long, green coat over it. The wealth was seen in the enchantments lining his belt. His hair was pulled back from his face. He looked so much like their father it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between June and Elgar'nan. But his hair was lighter in the color and he had an enchantment placed on his forehead which made his once amber eyes, an icy blue.

He stopped a place from Falon'Din where he had would have stood beside Dirthamen. June didn't comment on the missing presences of Dirthamen, rather looked towards the center of the room. He was a pace back from the activation glyph, as he waited for more to arrive.

"Father." June gave Elgar'nan an elegant if not cocky bow. "Falon'Din," his voice was a little harsher as he turned his gaze on Falon'Din. "If this weren't a meeting to gather in peace, I would have war for your costing me that lyrium mine."

Falon'Din scowled from under this mask. "It wasn't yours to begin with, June," Falon'Din retorted.

"Nor, yours, Falon."

Falon'Din growled. "It's Falon' _Din_!" he snarled at his _little_ brother. Falon had been Falon'Din's childhood name. He hated it now, especially when June called him by that name. Or really when any of his younger siblings did.

"My, aren't we touchy today," June gave a small smile. "Though, I am not the one who had a twin backstab me. I suppose your mood is quite understandable, brother."

"Tch." Falon'Din looked away from June. He didn't have to put up with this nonsense from the second youngest of the nine.

While he and June had speaking another had arrived. She wore a dress embroidered with flame and healing herbs. The dress was a rich aquamarine, the embroidery done in gold and silver. The wealth within the silks and gown showed the People's love for Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper as they called her.

Sylaise, like Falon'Din, had inherited their mother's golden-yellow gaze. Her eyes were softer with a hint of amber deep within them. Her golden-blond hair was pulled into in a tight weaving around her head, holding an interlocking, golden crown which looked as a plant. Her gloves were done in the same design as her dress.

As far as women went, Falon'Din supposed he could see why many men fawned over his sister. But he, personally, didn't see it.

"I see I arrived before mother and Andruil," Sylaise spoke in soft, loving tones. A tone which was deceitful to her power. She was gentle when the situation demanded it and in public, but Falon'Din knew all too well the sting of his sister's powers.

"Andruil will no doubt arrive with Ghilan'nain," June said with a warm smile towards Sylaise. "You look as radiant as ever, Sylaise."

Falon'Din suppressed the urge to gag. It was wrong what June held for Sylaise. They were brother and sister.

Falon'Din's heart flickered with unease. His mind flashed to Dirthamen as he thought of the feelings of his younger siblings. He took a deep breath. Dirthamen was an insect, not his brother, not anything.

Sylaise ignored June and continued passed him. "My dear brother, Falon'Din." Her hand touched his chest as she leaned into him. "Your heart seems to ache all the more than usual." Her gloved hand touched his chin as her warm breath touched the bare skin of his cheeks.

"I don't need your pity, Sylaise," Falon'Din growled. Her wrenched her hand from his chin. "Crawl back to your place by June, sister."

"So be it, Falon'Din." She turned from him, voice fleshed with venom towards his reaction. "A lovely day to see you again, father." Sylaise moved around the edge of the seal to where Elgar'nan stood. She bowed low to him.

"Sylaise." Elgar'nan gave the slightest incline of his head to her.

"I hope our temples remain enjoying the peace between us, father."

Their father looked down upon her, eyes burning in the light. This was his only response to her proposed peace.

A child trickled through Falon'Din's body. His gaze snapped to the eluvian once more. The newcomer was dressed in dark armor. Hints of the madness of the Abyss leaked from the form fitting gear. It wasn't a rich outfit nor one to see at such gatherings. Nothing could be seen of this new arrivals features. A black bow was strapped to her back and the armor clicked softly with each step she took.

Andruil.

Falon'Din hand to suppress another shudder. She had long since forgotten all but the need for the hunt. All but the desire to bath her bow and daggers in the blood of all she came across.

"Andruil!" Elgar'nan left his place. "Remove your bow from these chambers!"

Andruil paused and turned her shadowed gaze on Elgar'nan. For a long moment they locked gazes before she turned and moved back through the eluvian. A heartbeat later she returned without her bow.

There were no words uttered from her as she moved to place and stopped upon the glyph.

Once, long ago, Andruil had looked as the shadow of her twin sister Sylaise. With hair as dark as the night and eyes of ember light, she had commanded the loyalty and respect of the people. She had taught them the love she held for the land and all creatures upon it. No longer. The hunt for the shadow ones had corrupted her. She had ventured within the Abyss unprotected too many times, spent longer there than even Solas had in the final efforts to seal away the darkness of the cursed place.

The armor she wore had been crafted with care by June, using the tainted materials from the Abyss itself. All in the attempt to keep some of their sister's sanity. Even to this day, Falon'Din was uncertain the armor had done as June had intended. There was nothing of the Andruil Falon'Din had known when they'd been younger. No light in her eyes or joy or even the attempts to tease their uncle. Only darkness and bloodlust remained.

Another had followed Andruil's reentrance into the grand chambers. She, like Sylaise, wore finery which was breathtaking to many a man. Her white dress dragged out behind her, Shoulders bare before the sleeves fell passed her hands. Her hair was just as white as the dress. Antlers were woven into her hair and gold wound around her waist. Her skin was several shades darker than everyone else who stood in the room.

This was Ghilan'nain. Though none but the family now remembered, she was Andruil's only child. The daughter of a lesser elf and Andruil, Ghilan'nain had her earned her place among them by "purging" herself of the lesser blood of her father as well as creating the halla through the same means she had used to "purify" herself. All her words, not his own.

Ghilan'nain wordlessly took her place between her mother and where Mythal would stand upon her arrival.

Sylaise moved to her own place between Andruil and June.

A shiver unease raced through Falon'Din. This was the first time all of them had gathered like this in over thirty centuries. Well, all but three of them.

"Good, those I wished to speak with arrived early." Elgar'nan paced around them, hands behind his back and gaze flashing as he looked at each in turn. "We all know of the taint stirring among us."

Andruil snarled.

"Not you," Elgar'nan snapped. "I speak of Mythal."

Falon'Din stiffened. What did their mother, or grandmother in Ghilan'nain's case, have to do with this? Beside Elgar'nan, Mythal was the one all of them feared to cross. It was her actions which had quealed infighting among them. The wars which had raged between them all of them at one point or another. All of this had been stopped by her. There was times even Elgar'nan had bowed to her will.

"What about mother?" June asked, his hand on his chin in thought.

"She has sided with my pathetic brother from the last time," Elgar'nan stated as he stopped near his place.

Andruil growled under her breath. There was bitterness in the growl which pointed to her having not forgotten the time their mother had briefly trapped her.

"For too long the both of them have been given too much free rein. It's high time we put an end to their antics once and for all."

"This is a time of peace, father," Sylaise pointed out. "For the next few years the People will be celebrating the renewal of the seal on the Abyss. We have a truce."

"And thus it is the perfect time to strike." Elgar'nan turned his fiery gaze on Sylaise. "Fen'Harel has ignored the precursors to our time of peace and so has Mythal. She acts against us as surely as he does.

"The people need us to remain stable, to guide and protect them through all aspects of life. From a blessing of birth," – he bowed his head towards Sylaise – "to their very passage into uthenera." He turned his burning gaze to Falon'Din. "We keep their way of life, their prospects of the future and thus need what the wolf and dragon deny us."

Sylaise bowed her head. She didn't speak out though her eyes showed she was uncertain.

June looked towards her and then towards their father. "I won't deny Uncle Solas has gotten in the way of us gaining more than one lyrium mind since we awoke a pillar by mistake, but, still, this seems," he cut off at a look from Elgar'nan. "Fen'Harel has also been stealing our labor force," he conceded.

Dread started to settle in Falon'Din's gut. He looked to where Dirthamen would have been for a heartbeat. The only one who would have spoken out, who would have known the truth of the future wasn't here to deny Elgar'nan's words. Insect or not, had this been their father's plan all along?

No. That was ridicules.

Falon'Din returned his attention to their father. Elgar'nan only spoke of what was for the best for the People. They did rely on all nine of them for everything. Every aspect of life was given to the People by them.

"We guided the People from the darkness of slavery into the light of a new age," Elgar'nan continued. "We will continue to guide them into a perfect future. One without fears or needs. The six of us who remain, who know the truth, will be the guiding light!"

The others bowed their heads in agreement.

Nothing more needed to be spoken. Elgar'nan returned to his place.

Not long after, Mythal appeared through the eluvian. She wore a beautiful, dark dress which mirrored the night. She strode towards her place on the right side of Elgar'nan.

Falon'Din found himself holding his breath. His heart hurt with a fear Solas wouldn't appear. He was the only one who could enact the final stage of the seals renewal. If he didn't come then, then the seal would break in less than a five hundred years.

A small breath eased from Falon'Din when Solas stepped through the eluvian. He wasn't dressed in any finery, rather in his normal armor. The ends of the robes tattered from centuries of use and a new fur wrapped over his left shoulder. He didn't have any weapons on him as the truce instructed. Even still there was an unease in his sharp, pale gaze as he strode around the seal to his place beside Falon'Din and Elgar'nan.

No one moved onto the glyph who were already standing upon it. Solas had stopped just behind his own. His gaze moved from his brother to the one empty place beside Falon'Din. His seed-shaped eyes narrowed.

"Where is Dirthamen?" he asked, tone cool.

No one replied.

Solas's eyes narrowed further. "Without Dirthamen the renewal will decay and weaken too quickly."

"We're aware, Fen'Harel!" Elgar'nan snapped. "But he is no longer with us."

Falon'Din glared at Solas. It was his fault Dirthamen wasn't Falon'Din's full brother. _His_ fault Dirthamen was born an insect instead of the precious brother Falon'Din had thought he had.

His hand balled into a fist. Pain and rage stabbed deep into his heart. No matter how long it took him he would find a way to end his so called uncle for good.

Solas scowled as he turned to look at his brother. There was a hint of rage in his stance. "Interesting he should vanish on today of all days," Solas stated, tone even. Without another word, he stepped onto his glyph.

The others moved not a breath later.

Gears groaned as a door one the floor moved. A foci moved into the air.

Solas lifted his hand, eyes giving off a faint, familiar green light that tented the sky and world. Raw magic shot from his hand to the Foci.

Falon'Din felt his own eyes burn as he unleashed spells to aid in the strengthening the seal. The others did the same. All lifted their dominate hand and unleashed their power into the Foci.

White light filled the room. A beam shot from the foci. It shot into the seal and into the sky. It moved out from the room into the sky, renewing the barriers around the Abyss proper.

In this moment, Falon'Din felt his heart flicker with unease. None of them knew Solas's magic well enough to mimic this. If they killed his uncle and mother, what parts of the seal would weaken? Would the shadow return to the world and taint its people once more?

Falon'Din forced himself to not think on this. His uncle deserved whatever fate his father saw for him. Falon'Din wouldn't forget or forgive his uncle's role in tearing Dirthamen from him. Never! No matter what he would drown his uncle in the pain he felt and in the rage he now knew towards the man.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** I am so sorry about not updating this story in a long time. I will hopefully be able to update more often.

On the chapter, for a long time now, I've been debating if I wanted this chapter to be told by Falon'Din or not. I had a little taste of Falon'Din's personality built for another story I am working on, and thought, "what was he thinking after betraying his brother? A brother we know is closer to him than anything else in the world." That's what inspired this chapter and the decision to add a third point of view character to this book.

I want to say, while Dirthamen has always been my favorite of the elven pantheon, Falon'Din and Mythal were always tied as second. No matter how I write Falon'Din, I do adore him and his role in the DA universe.

Also, while in Evening Visitor my Inquisitor is Theria, it has changed twice since then who my Inquisitor is. Theria was from the idea that Felassan was a sentinel of Fen'Harel in the original _Final Hour_ , Alaula (my second take) is still one of the choices I do a play through of as and is related to this story, but she's honestly not my favorite to play as, Mahvir is. No, not the Mahvir of this story. Rather the Mahvir who appears in the first chapter of _Blood of the People_ , the story I am writing with HerenyaHope. Anyway, if you guys continue on with this series (as I write it) as well as the shared story with Herenya you will see who this Mahvir really is very quickly. **)**


	7. Chapter 7: In the Moment

The cave was cool in the predawn. Dirthamen sat near the entrance his gaze locked on the dark sky. He could see it; the others were gathering in the one moment of peace shared between the nine of them. The ceremony to reinforce the seal on the Abyss.

Dirthamen closed his eyes and let the images of his family swirl around his sight. His heart ached with longing to stand beside them during this time. Pain stabbed at his heart as he saw his "twin" speaking with June. It was all too easy to hear the argument between them.

The others were arriving as well. One by one. None coming together. Dirthamen felt the pain stab deeper. How easy it would be to reset the past, to make it so they never drifted apart and how impossible. The means to do so would destroy this world as surely as the futures taking root this day.

"Hey there!"

Dirthamen moved a heartbeat before he would have been slapped in the back. "Mahvir," he stated and looked over his shoulder at the younger man.

"Ah, come on, why did you move?" Mahvir huffed. He flopped down next to Dirthamen and folded his arms across his chest.

Dirthamen turned his gaze back on the predawn sky.

"Hmm," Mahvir opened one eye. "What's so interesting about the sky? Are you waiting for the seal renewal? It'll be hard to see for us."

"No, just thinking on the war with the Shadow Ones," Dirthamen sighed and looked away from the sky. His heart ached at the images of his family as they had been during the war with the Shadow Ones. The very foundations of any elvhen was within their family.

"You always have your head in the past," Mahvir grumbled. "You really need to learn to let go."

"I have let go," Dirthamen stated as he looked back at Mahvir. Though, he knew it wasn't really the same letting go the younger man spoke of it, Dirthamen had released himself from the power of his previous position. Still, there was a lingering feeling he should have stayed. He knew that path was one to the surest paths to the destruction of their People. Yet, what paths remained which didn't lead to the destruction of all they knew?

"Right?" Mahvir rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Mahvir leaned in closer, his eyes bright as he tapped his nose. "You need to learn to live in the moment. Not in the past."

Dirthamen frowned. In the moment? "You mean to enjoy what is in the now and not looking back on what has been or forward to what could be," Dirthamen stated.

"Yes!" Mahvir threw up his hands in joy. "See, this is how it's going to be, your new name among us is Sahlin." Mahvir grinned, looking as if he owned the world in giving Dirthamen this name.

"So, I am to be called what you're trying to teach me to live in the time frame of." Dirthamen sighed. "Very well. I do take it that is why you're called 'Mahvi,' then?" It was politer to asked the question than to bluntly state facts as he had been. Dirthamen already knew the young man was called Mahvir because he could only live in the moment.

Dirthamen looked away from the boy. What was the point to learning to live in the moment? His sight snapped to where his family was gathered. He was dead to them, to all of them. Perhaps, it was best to just fade and leave the events to unfold without him there.

"Okay," Mahvir huffed. "What are you sulking about now, Sahlin?"

Sulking? Perhaps, Dirthamen was sulking. Perhaps there was reason for it. There was nothing left to live for. He had failed in trying to protect the children from the harshness of the world. Too many had fallen into slavery. His small, hidden efforts to save those children he could, never even made a difference. Only Solas's efforts did and those efforts had moved fast, tearing apart their family with clumsy hands.

The searing pain of his brother's dagger still burned through the healing wound on Dirthamn's side. His brother's enraged features. Did Dirthamen deserve to live?

Dirthamen felt a sharp tug through time itself. His eyes snapped open but he wasn't fast enough to dodge the hand grabbing hold of his tattered collar. He was yanked to his feet.

"All right, Sahlin," Mahvir started. "You're going to have your first lesson in getting back on your feet." He stalked out of the cave.

Dirthamen let out a low breath. He glanced at the others in the cave. The cold eyes of Etha bored into him. She titled her head, tell him to go after Mahvir.

A scowl twitched at the corners of Dirthamen's lips. A short flare of annoyance shot through him. Then, it eased back. He was no one here. He had to remind himself he wasn't Dirthamen to this group. He was just another useless mouth to feed.

He followed Mahvir out of the cave. The coolness of predawn would soon be swept aside. Dirthamen looked out across the landscape. In the distance he could just make out the sanctuary Solas had belt for freed slaves.

"We're heading that way," Mahvir stated beside Dirthamen. "We just have too careful of the itch weed. Fen'Harel normally gives up some supplies then we're able to continue on our way. But it will be a few weeks before we leave the cave."

Dirthamen looked away from the sanctuary. They were heading towards Fen'Harel. A shiver raced through him. He could see the hatred in Solas's pale gaze the moment he glimpsed Dirthamen with this group. No matter his ragged clothes and shortened hair, to his Uncle – no, Dirthamen shoved the title from his mind – to Fen'Harel, he would always be one of the power hungry members of their family.

"All right!" Mahvir clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Now, Etha wants me to find out what you're useful for."

Dirthamen stiffened. His mind wheeled back to the past where Elgar'nan had beaten him until he had learned of Dirthamen's ability to predict actions moments before they would happen. Pain seared across his torso where the scar remained from how Elgar'nan had forced Dirthamen's body beyond the limits.

Dirthamen took a deep breath, grateful the air was dry so his breathing didn't act up. "I suppose my only talent is magical theory," Dirthamen admitted, deciding it was best not to mention abilities of his family. The abilities which had made others view them as gods instead of people.

Besides, he was good at the theory behind magic, even if he couldn't use magic proper. He had come up with designs for the _eluvians_ while his uncl—Solas and his younger brother June had been the ones who actually made them. Many creations within Elvhenan could trace some of their routes back to Dirthamen. Not all, but many.

"Creators have mercy on us," Mahvir muttered and rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant, Sahlin!" He wrapped his arm around Dirthamen's shoulders and stirred him away from the cave entrance. Mahvir moved over to one of the wagons. "You and me, we're going to fix this."

Dirthamen blinked and looked at the destroyed wagon. The wheels had been shattered and the frame torn. It wasn't beyond repair, even without magic, but, the labor required to fix it—No, he couldn't not without revealing how weak his body was.

"I can't," Dirthamen started to protest.

"For the love of Mythal!" Mahvir shouted. "That's it."

Dirthamen didn't even attempt to dodge Mahvir as the other man took hold of his shoulders. Dirthamen was forced over to a flat stone not far from the wagon.

"Sit on that rock there. You're not allowed to leave until you think of something you're good at." Mahvir glared at him and wagged a finger in Dirthamen's face. "I don't mean magic either. _Sit_ or, I swear, I will tickle to within an inch of your life!"

For a moment, Dirthamen didn't move. This didn't feel right; yet, what harm would sitting on rock do? Even if it would be for a week. He moved over to it and settled himself there.

"Don't move, don't speak, and don't come back to the come back to the cave until you can give me an answer."

Mahvir stomped off, grumbling under his breath.

Dirthamen listened to the younger man leaving. His eyes locked once more on the sky. Soft ripples of magic could now be seen in small, subtle waves as they raced over the green tinged sky. Dirthamen watched; yet, the barrier would never last long enough, not without his abilities to manipulate time added to the seal.

He closed his eyes. He had failed.

" _This is silly_ ," Fear's voice echoed in Dirthamen's mind. " _That mortal just left you there to stare at nothing_."

" _It is silly_ ," Deceit agreed. " _How much longer are you planning on playing around, Dirthy_?"

" _Yeah, you need to take back what's yours, not roll over like some defeated dog_."

Dirthamen did his best to ignore the demons. They wanted to return to the life luxury. A life Dirthamen knew he didn't deserve. His gaze moved out across the landscape.

Grasses swayed in the light breeze. The thin strands danced with the air and flowers decorating the landscape. The sight was enough to calm Dirthamen's unease. He took in a deep breath of the rich air. His lungs expanding with ease in the dryness of the day. The sun was still cool enough it wouldn't hurt his burned skin. Still, it would get hotter as the day wore on.

Dirthamen closed his eyes. Images of the past danced around his mind, taunting him. He wanted it back. Not the wealth, father his family. The way they had been so long ago without the infighting and wars. He remembered the pain, trying to get his father to care and love him as he did Falon'Din.

In the end, Dirthamen had never belonged.

Think in the moment. He closed his eyes tighter. Images flashed before him. Sights and sounds, of places far from here. What was happening in court on the other side of the Elvhenan. He could see the parties bursting into life around the empire. Each praising their gods for another three centuries of protection from the shadows beyond the Abyss.

No, Dirthamen had to focus on himself. In the moment, in the now, in the space and time directly around. It was hard to pull his vision away from the parties, even harder from the images tantalizing him from the far past.

Each new attempt snapped his vision back to another time or another place. He didn't want to focus on himself. He couldn't. To do so would be to realize the pain in him. To feel it as more than echo from the future. It wasn't physical pain, rather everything in his life he had kept locked away and would never reveal to another.

 _Never_.

*~ x ~*

Solas strode through the _eluvian_. His heart tingled with unease after the events of the peace gathering. Without Dirthamen's magic, there was no telling how long the seal would hold against the Shadow Ones. He let out a long, low breath. All of this was turning into a mess. There was still something more wrong at the heart of it all.

"You seem to being a little upset," Hallmar commented.

Solas straightened to see the dwarf had been waiting for his return. "No, everything is fine." For now, at least. There was a truce between them. Solas would be able to free many slaves during this time of peace. He didn't want unrest to spread. He wanted to teach the young and help guide them to a point they could stand on there.

Solas rubbed his temple.

No. He didn't want to be the one to fire the first shot. Still, this world couldn't remain as it was. There was too much pain in it for some of the people.

"Was there anything with the wanderers?" Solas asked Hallmar as the two of moved down into the heart of the sanctuary. A few of the people looked up from meals they were eating.

"Aye, your scouts be keeping a close eye on them." Hallmar looked up at Solas. "Ya really be thinking they attack a group just to be rid of them."

Solas closed his eyes a little then glanced at those former slaves eating and laughing within the massive room. "I don't know," Solas admitted. "There was a great deal of unrest at the truce after Mythal and I arrived." His gaze moved to the group brining out more food.

"It be more than that?" Hallmar pressed.

Solas started through the room towards the steps. The statue would be open right then allow entrance into the upper levels of the sanctuary. Only once out of earshot of the others, did Solas dare to speak with his friend. "It is. Dirthamen has gone missing. None of them are talking what's happened to him."

Hallmar frowned. "He be one of the older ones, right?"

"Yes, the second eldest son of Mythal and Elgar'nan," Solas stated. "Though only by a few minutes."

"His twin be saying something then? Twins be close, if I be recalling right."

Solas bowed his head. "No, and odder still, when I met with Mythal, Falon'Din was calling his twin an insect."

"Ain't there be a truce going on right now?" Hallmar asked.

"Which is what I find the most troubling," Solas confessed. "The others have never broken the few years of truce before and after the meeting. Even my sealing of the mines doesn't count since we never directly engaged in combat."

"But June's and the twin's forces looked ready to," Hallmar remarked.

"True, but I doubt June or the twins would be pleased if they had fought." Solas rubbed his eyes. A headache was starting to pulse through his skull. "With Mythal warning me about the others wanting to end the wanderers and now, this mess with Dirthamen missing," Solas trailed off. What worried wasn't the fact Dirthamen was missing, it was seal over the Abyss. "The Abyss's seal is going to decay at a rabid rate. It will hold, but splinter and could weaken to the point the point," Solas sighed and shook his head.

"His power really be that important to the seal?" Hallmar asked.

"It is," Solas confessed. He hesitated, ready to speak more openly about his nephew's abilities then decided better of it. Their magic was reason so many saw them as gods. If he ever showed those here his true power, well, they wouldn't see him as he had been trying to get them to see him.

He wasn't a god. None of them were.

"This be important and all, but it be sounding like something you should worry about long time from now. The false gods greed be what you need to be worrying about," Hallmar pointed out.

Solas let out a low, short breath. This was true.

Hallmar touched his arm. "You need a drink I be thinking."

A soft, short chuckle escaped Solas. "I doubt it will make my worries vanish, my friend."

"No, but it be helping a little."

Solas shook his head. "There is too much to do. Save the wine for a toast when more of my people are free." He moved off, arms behind his back. He couldn't let any others see such doubts in him right now.

Still, even as he walked, straight backed and sure, his mind was locked on the troubles of Dirthamen's disappearance. Dirthamen was a mystery now to Solas, a wildcard in the growing unrest among the people, the slaves, and the false gods. There was no telling why he had vanished.

*~ x ~*

Dirthamen snapped from the vision of his uncl—of Solas and his dwarf friend Hallmar. His uncl – Solas was focusing too much on the fact Dirthamen wasn't with the others. Still, Dithamen closed his eyes, the fact he wasn't was also troubling. Solas was right about the actions Falon'Din taking being against the truce.

Blood poured over Dirthamen's vision. The world was tearing itself apart faster than it should have. The more Solas pressed into the issue of Dirthamen not being with the others, the worse the distruction grew. Chaos was unleashed on the world. Homes were torn apart. Lives destroyed. Worse, blood flowed through the _eluvians_ , staining all realms red with decay.

A war raged. Armies clashing as truths were revealed. Sylaise's truce with Elgar'nan shattered. Her forces moved against the combined armies of Falon'Din and Elgar'nan.

It worsened. Solas's hand was forced as Mythal lay sightless, flesh blackened. His rage shot towards all groups. All of them splitting as June joined with his eternal love for their sister. Andruil's madness split her from even Elgar'nan's side to form a fourth faction. Her daughter stood at her side.

Their people were drowning in their fallen. Ripped apart from all sides. Their families destroyed by Dirthamen's own. His heart twisted as he watched a mother clinging to her child. She knelt in a blood of the child's blood.

Dirthamen's eyes snapped open once more. The beauty of the field was lost in the light of moons, washed red with future blood. Fen'Harel's army matched, clashing with the forces which sought to destroy him.

Then two more armies joined the fray.

There was no voice of reason this time. No one to end the battles between them. None to draw this madness to a close.

There had to be away to ensure this future never happened. Away to better future for their people.

Dirthamen closed his eyes. He focused inward on his ability, shutting off all other senses so he could see, feel, taste, hear, and smell each new future as it unfolded around him.

Images and sounds raced through him. Each as bloody as the last. He saw himself siding with Solas, aiding him from the shadows or even beside his uncle. Not a good future. Still one drenched in deaths on a level the people could never hope to recover from.

" _There is no hope_ ," Fear hissed through Dirthamen's mind. " _None. All will perish one way or another. Only you will remain, eternal_."

Dirthamen ignored the demon at first then paused. He remained eternal. If he remained, in Solas's eyes, with the others! The images started to unfold. The path hard, and pained for him, but less bloody. The elvhen would survive. The others would unite to fight Fen'Harel. There was only one future where Solas succeeded.

Dirthamen drew himself from his visions and to the field once more. The blood had vanished from the night light grasses. The sharp contrast was breathtaking. The beauty almost overwhelming to behold. This was what Mahvir had meant by trying to live in a moment. Yet, moments were all too fleeting.

Despite this, there was a part of Dirthamen which longed to cling to this one moment. The peace of the night filled the air. Grasses were disturbed only by a soft, light breeze.

Dirthamen took a deep breath. For the first time in ages, he was content to just sit there and watch the shifting grass. To be lost in the now.

* * *

 **(Author's Note:** So slowly pushing forward with the story. I am sorry for not updating in a while. I hope I can update on Saturday's, but, life, it's always so busy. **)**


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